


The Dragon Remembers

by JonTheDawn



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arthur Dayne Lives, BAMF Jon Snow, Canon Divergence - War of The Five Kings, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, Dragons, Drunk Robert, Essos, Eventual Smut, F/M, Joffrey Baratheon Being an Asshole, Jon Snow Doesn't Join the Night's Watch, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, LOTS OF OOCs IF IT PLEASES YOU, Multi, OOC Jon Snow, Other, POV Arthur, POV Jon Snow, Rhaella Targaryen Lives, The Golden Company (ASoIaF), The Others - Freeform, The Prince That Was Promised, Tywin Lannister Being Tywin Lannister, Viserys Targaryen Lives, Warging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:02:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 183,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24087055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JonTheDawn/pseuds/JonTheDawn
Summary: Just read it :'(
Relationships: Alys Karstark/Robb Stark, Arianne Martell/Jon Snow, Ashara Dayne/Jon Snow, Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Ned Stark/Catelyn Tully Stark, Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand, Robert Baratheon/Cersei Lannister, Tyene Sand/Jon Snow
Comments: 1135
Kudos: 488





	1. Ned I - Arthur I

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is AU story that I was thinking to write for months now. Due to exams and everything I couldn't continue my previous fic. I had thought about going on with that story but it was too much of Disney level and smutty to me so I just kind of post-poned that now not Abandoned tho.  
> This is an AU story where Arthur and Rhaella lives. How much it will change the life of Jon and Daenerys we will have to wait and read. It is extremely Jon centric fic so we may not go to Daenerys early. I have also changed the appearance and nature of Jon Snow here.

##### Ned

The rebellion was finally over. Ned didn't know why this all happened but it occurred so fast and so bloody that now all he want is to take his sister back home and meet his wife and newborn son, and never leave south of the Neck. He have felt and seen too much of pain and death here in South.

 _This is not how it was meant to be_. They started the rebellion to get justice for his father and brother, and to find Lya from this so-called **abduction**. How in the name of Old Gods would someone abduct Lyanna and keep her so long. Unless..' Ned stopped his trail of thoughts.

They continued to ride from the Red Mountains of Dorne towards the damn tower where Lyanna was kept. He learnt from the raven sent by the beautiful Lady Ashara Dayne, the sister of the Sword of the Morning.

Ned thought about his best friend Robert. _Now King_. He was the best man Ned knew. So much like his elder brother Brandon. But also alot reckless. Ned knew about his friend larger than life persona. Ned had this impression that Robert and Lyanna would be perfect for each other. The mighty Stag and the She-wolf two untamed animals subdue each other. The cursed Tourney at Harrenhal changed everything.

Lyanna was the Winter rose of the North. She had never been outside the North until then. Lyanna was wild yet very beautiful creature. She inadvertently attracted alot of attention. Robert was clearly awe-struck by her. The tourney was attended by many beauties. Cersei Lannister, Princess Elia Martell and Ashara Dayne. 'She is a thing of beauty'. Their beauties were widely known throughout the Seven Kingdoms. However, it was Lyanna that stole the show. _Damn the Wolfsblood_. She slapped Robert during the dance at the feast when he got drown on his cups and misbehaved. Ned still remembered the laughter of Lyanna and Benjen, the drinking contest between Brandon and Robert. _Damn them_. Those four clearly brought unwanted attention from every one in the tourney. Brandon was busy swooning maidens albeit his betrothed. Benjen could not stop babbling about the Kingsguards. Robert was openly insulting the Targaryens. _'The Mad Sisterfucker finally left his Keep.'_ Ned and Jon thanked the gods Aerys at that time didn't heard Robert but Ned was pretty much sure the Prince heard given the look he threw towards Robert. Lya was the worse of all. She not only caused drama at the feast but she was the fuckin _Knight of the Laughing Tree_ according to Howland. She brought alot of eyes towards her so much that even the Mad King and Crown Prince were sometimes looking at her. The Crown Prince even crowned her his _'Queen of Love and Beauty'_.That's where things started to get ugly.

Hoster Tully left the tournament early after failed betrothal betwern his second daughter and Jaime Lannister **Kingslayer**. Ned thought bitterly. His now good-father missed how Brandon was completely ignoring Lady Catelyn Tully to get the attention of Lady Ashara Dayne.

  
Ned would be lying if he said Lady Ashara was not one of the most beautiful women he saw if not the most.

  
But alas she was bewitched by Bran of all people. _Bran_ , he sadly remembered about his wild elder brother. Why in the name of Old Gods would he go straight to the Red Keep with only handful guards Ned would never know. Father always told Bran and Lya had Wolfsblood in them. He never told us it would led them to early grave. _No. Lya is alive_. Ned reminded himself.

It was foolish of Bran to run straight to Kingslanding and foolish of Father as well to answer the call of the Mad King without consulting his bannermans and even Ned for that matter. _How could he know that the Madman would burn him alive? A Lord Paramount nonetheless!_  
All this because Rhaegar fucking Targaryen took his sister.

  
Rhaegar Targaryen before the Battle of Trident asked to have a truce with Ned.  
The man abducted my sister and kept her throughout the entire war and now then he asked to talk about well-being of Lyanna just before the final battle?All the Targaryens are really mad. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

  
Ned still felt some pity to Rhaegar Targaryen when he faced the furious Robert Baratheon and his gaint war hammer. _Ours is the fury_. The word of his House rings true on Robert.

Robert was even more infuriated when the last word of the Last Dragon was Lyanna....  
The most disturbing thing in the entire rebellion was looking at the dead bodies of Princess Elia and her Children. That was an act of monstrosity. Orchestrated by Tywin Lannister.The worse thing was the reaction of Robert. He just laughed and shrugged as if it was no big deal. _I_ _see no dead bodies, Ned. Only Dragonspawns_.

  
Even Jon Arryn who taught him about honor and sense of duty didn't protested against Tywin Lannister. It _was harsher but necessary nonetheless Ned_. The words of Jon Arryn. Hand of the King.

They didn't even punished the Kingslayer, the sworn brother of the Kingsguard who vowed to protect his King. Ned would not mind what Tywin Lannister would think about his golden heir getting punished. The old bastard hid inside his rock during the entire war and as soon as the victors were proclaimed he suddenly started to march towards Kingslanding to end the Targaryen line to be under the good graces of the new King. He didn't have any right sack the city like that and to let loose his dogs. It was their war. Aerys killed his father and brother. The Kingslayer should not have thrust his golden sword behind the back of his own King. _Talk about Backstabbers. Like father like son_.

Tywin Lannister then even proposed the marriage between Robert and his daughter as if pardoning of his son for Kingslaying was not enough. The war caused too much of destruction Robert certainly needs Tywin's gold if he wants to be a good ruler. But Robert being Robert just told him to bugger off. Robert is still awaiting Lyanna. Ned would be damned before he let his sister go to the viper's pit with Robert now surrounded by Lannister like vultures. Lyanna never wanted to marry Robert in the first place.

Ned hoped someday she would marry somebody from North. Lyanna's beauty is still legendary in north. Well everywhere now the bards have started singing songs about the Wolf-maid that caught the eye of Dragon Prince.. Anybody would care naught what the Dragon Prince really did to her in the North. Ned desperately was reassuring himself.

They finally reached the northern edge of the Red Mountains of Dorne. Damn the Dornish heat. Upon near the tower Ned saw three figure with shining silver armour. _The three remaining Kingsguards_.

  
Howland reached near him while riding and softly asked "How should we approach them Ned?"

  
Ned looked at Howland. Lyanna fought for the honor of Howland Ned can see the care Howland held for his sister. "I care not how deadly they are with swords I will take my sister home and if they dare refuse I will walk down their corpses to get her"

  
Howland reluctantly nooded. They arrived to the said tower.

"Greetings, Lord Stark." The deep voice of Ser Gerold the Lord Commander of Kingsguard, cut with experience. His face was somber framed with grey beard and hair.  
  
"And to you as well Ser Gerold, Ser Arthur, Ser Oswell" Ned returned, his voice neutral.  
  
"You're a long way from the North, Lord Stark" Ser Gerold spoked in a grim voice.

  
"Aye, I am, My men and I were sailing for White Harbor, only to be turned south by rumors of my sisters location."

  
"I looked for you on the trident." Ned said to them.

  
"We were not there" Ser Gerold answered

"Our Prince wanted us here," replied Ser Arthur, Sword of the Morning nonchalantly. His blonde hair shining in the Sunlight and his blue-violet eyes very piercing. Anyone could have mistaken the famed Knight for a Targaryen.

  
Silver armor with the three headed dragon sigil emblazoned on the chest plates, singling out the member of Aerys Targaryen’s Kingsguard. With the shining Silver armour the Sword of the Morning looked every inch of a Royal. Ned thought even the Dragonknight looked this much imposing. Where the Kingslayer looked all golden here Ser Arthur looked all silver.

  
Ned frowned. How the hell are they so calm at the death's doorstep? Ned wondered.  
"When Kingslanding fell Ser Jaime slew your King with a golden Sword, and I wondered where you were "Eddard stated with forbidden voice

  
"Far away" Ser Gerold said, "or Aerys would yet sit the Iron Throne, and our false brother would burn in seven hells"

  
"Woe to the Usurper had we been on the Trident and the King would still live our fake brother wouldn't be driving his sword behind the King's back but maybe that was for good of the realm" replied Ser Oswell he was carrying a distinctive helmet emblazoned with a black bat with its wings spread. Symbolizing House Whent.

  
Ned's head hurt. Did the Kingsguard actually said that slaying the King was good for the realm and by a kingsguard nontheless? He looked at the faces of the other Kingsguards to see any reaction but found none. Their faces were blank.

  
"I came down on Storm's End to lift the siege ," Ned told them, "and the Lords Tyrell and Redwyne dipped their banners, and all their Knights bent the Knee to pledge us fealty. I was certain you would be among them"

  
"Our knees don't bent easily," said Ser Arthur with narrowed eyes.

  
"Ser Willem Darry fled to the Dragonstone, with your Queen and Prince Viserys. I thought you might have sailed with them, " Ned said in annoyed tone

  
"Ser Willem is a good man and true," said Ser Oswell.

  
"But not of the Kingsguard" added Ser Gerold. "And the Kingsguard does not flee."

  
"We swore a vow ," Ser Oswell added.

Ser Arthur donned his helm and sheath the famous Dawn on one hand and another sword on other seeing this both the Kingsguards and his fellow bannermen did the same.

  
"Where's my sister?" Ned asked them in a commanding voice.

  
"What really happened to Princess Elia and her children?" Instead of answering Ser Arthur asked him in a very deadly serious manner.

  
Ned hesitated a bit but replied.  
"Princess Elia was raped by the Mountain, the infant Prince's skull was crushed by Mountain and Princess Rhaenys was stabbed half a hubdred times by Armory Lorch all by the orders of Tywin Lannister"

  
All three of them froze upon hearing him. Ser Oswell was wide-eyed so was Ser Gerold. They exchanged glances but Ser Arthur eyes were full of rage.

  
"And this is how your king started his kingdom" Ser Arthur venomously spat the words before launching at them.

Ser Arthur Dayne immediately sliced Howland Reed's right shoulder with the infamous Dawn.

  
And the fight started.

  
Ned was attacking Ser Gerold Hightower with Theo Wull at his side. Even at such age the White Bull was very strong and the Royal Armor was really aiding the Kingsguard.  
In an instant Ser Gerold slashed the torso of Theo Wull in a downward vertical Strike of his Longsword. Seizing the opportunity Ned Stark cut the cheek of the Knight from forehead dripping blood and thrusting his Valyrian Steel sword inwards the neck of the White Bull.

  
From the corner of his eye Ned saw Ser Oswell driving his sword deep inside Ethan Glover's Chest.

  
Ser Arthur was engaging with Matyn Cassel and William Dustin both at the same time. Ned promptly went on to parry _Ice_ against _Dawn_. Ser Arthur easily pushed back Ned.  
Ser Mark Rsywell and Ser Oswell Whent were going blow for blow at each other and the latter was gaining upper hand. Just as Ser Oswell was about to end Mark, Ned rushed in for help. Ned parried the thrust of his opponent's sword, being a Valyrian sword gave him an edge so Ned quickly threw a punch towards the Knight's face and immediately Ser Rsywell drove his sword at the Knight's eyes.

Now it was four on one. Ser Arthur Dayne was surrounded from all sides by Ned, Martyn Cassel, Lord William Dustin and Ser Mark Rsywell. The Knight was flexing his dual swords and was pointing his both swords towards them as if he waa born to fight in situation like this.

  
Ned thought about the Knight's beautiful sister. He vowed to take the Kingsguard's body and the Sword to Starfall. Lady Ashara and House Dayne deserved that much at least.

William Dustin and Martin Cassel immediately attacked from the front but Ser Arthur Dayne easily blocked their attack. Ser Mark Rsywell was coming from the right side of the Kingsguard and Ned was sneaking behind the left. Ser Arthur dodged a bit and evenly paired both Ned and Ser Mark's attack. The Kingsguard was moving backwards pairing all the four swords with his two in an impossible speed. He was dancing between them. The prowess of the Knight was not exaggerated. Ned concluded.

Ser Arthur Dayne was blocking their every attack high and low. He was rotating both his arms very amazingly and the swords were like extensions of his arms. Ser Arthur kicked Ser Rsywell on chest bringing the Knight down while blocking both Martyn Cassel and William Dustin's cuts at the same time. Immediately Ser Arthur slit the throat of the stumbling Knight.

  
Now Ser Arthur instantly moved backwards with Eddard and Martyn moving along with strikes that were evenly matched. Martyn went for the vertical cut but Ser Arthur used his own momentum against him and pushed Martyn's own sword in his neck with dual sword on either sides of neck thus finishing him in brutal way with the cut from three different blades. Ned was jusy behind Martyn. Now he knew why the Sword of the Morning waa called the deadliest knight of Aerys Kingsguards. Ser Arthur Dayne was undoubtedly the best Swordsman Ned ever saw.

  
 _By the Gods, if it was Ser Arthur instead of Rhaegar on the Trident then Robert would have been in place of Rhaegar_. Ned shudder at the thought. Fear was slowly building inside him.  
Ned went low for the leg but Ser Arthur blocked it with Dawn in his right and used his own momentum against him to push Ned back meanwhile he was blocking William's high cut with his left and in an instant Ser Arthur thrust Dawn inside Lord William Dustin. Now Lady Barbrey Rsywell is a widow. Ned thought remorsefully. Instantly, Ned shivered at the thought of Catelyn and his son. _I won't be able to see my son_. Ned feared at the thought creeping in his mind. Starks don't farewell south of the Neck.  
Ned looked at Ser Arthur and meet his determined gaze.

_Now it ends._

Ned Stark and Ser Arthur Dayne were circling eachother. Ser Arthur was staring at Ned with predatory gaze. Ned stroke Ice in a horizontal arc, Ser Arthur blocked with his left sword and swong Dawn so fast that Ned barely dodged. Ser Arthur advanced on attack forcing Ned to trip backwards. The multiple hits from the Knight were getting heavy on Ned. His arms were terribly aching. He knew today was his last day. With every power he could muscle Ned thrust his sword into the torso of the Knight but Ser Arthur blocked the strike using his swords and knocked off Ice out of his hand.

  
Behind Ser Arthur, Ned saw Howland Reed slowly trying to get up. Ser Arthur turned behind to see the Crannogman.  
In the exact momemt Ned heard Lyanna's scream and without even thinking anything Ned rushed inside the Tower with Ser Arthur following behind.

  
Ned hurries up the steps, and eventually bursts into the room, where he found his sister and a handmaiden, Lyanna was lying in a bed of blood, a child in her arms. Ned kneeled beside her. "Lya, it's me, it's Ned." The child was handed over to the Wet-nurse.  
His sister looked at him then with her silver-grey eyes. "Ned is it really you? I'm ... I'm not dreaming, am I?"

  
"You're not dreaming lya. It's me Sister." Ned spoke in a crooked voice.

  
"I knew you would come, I told them that you would come. I am sorry Ned….so very sorry."

  
"You have nothing to be sorry for Lya. I should have done more to help you, to protect you." Ned whispered stroking his sister's hair.

  
His sister shook her head. "No, I am responsible for father and Brandon's deaths. I had sent a raven to Father and left one to Brandon at Riverrun, Ned. Why did this all happen?" Lyanna was sobbing. Ned was confused how did Father and Brandon never got the ravens? Had they received the ravens perhaps they would not have died. Perhaps we could have changed things.

  
"I loved him Ned. I never wanted to marry Robert. Rhaegar and I married at the Isle of Faces. The High Septon annulled Rhaegar's married to Elia as per both of their approval. Princess Elia was barren. He believed in his stupid **prophecy** and thought my child would be his promised prince, a song of ice and fire as he would like to say " Lya was chuckling humorless.

  
"Prophecy? What do you mean?" Ned asks confused.

  
His sister snorted weakly then and managed to say, "It is nothing Ned, but please, I do not have long left for this world. Please Ned, promise me to protect my son. Robert will kill him you know he will. Arthur will train him just like the warrior he should be. I don't care about that damn throne but promise to keep him safe and happy. Please Ned"  
Ned wanted to protest, to say that his sister will survive that she will live, but he looked at her pale face and all the blood with winter roses in the sheet, and he knew that she will not.

"Lyanna, I..,uh, I..."

  
" _Promise me Ned_." his sister pleaded.

  
"I promise." Ned uttered.

  
His sister smiled and then whispered.  
"You always were the best of us." she stopped breathing then, and Ned looked at his sister, he looked at her for a long time, he did not know how long, but eventually he woke from his trance when the babe started crying.

He shook his head and asked for the babe from the wet-nurse who looked at Ser Arthur and hesitantly gave him. He looked at the babe and gaspsed, the babe's eyes were brilliant _purple_ like the stories about Dragonlords of Old and those purple orbs were looking at him, he has an angular face, _Rhaegar's face_ and has few streaks of very light brown hair so unlike his and his sister's. The only thing he got from Lyanna was their monoloid eye shape drafted by the slanted eye-brow and the plump red lips and maybe Lyanna's curls. The baby was very beautiful. Such a beautiful boy and already a motherless and fatherless. He looked at the babe and did what he can to soothe the babe, eventually he stood, and he found Ser Arthur waiting for him at the door with both sword in his hands. Ned gulped at that sight.

##### Ser Arthur Dayne

Stark looked at Ser Arthur and asked "How?"  
Ser Arthur ignored the man question and said  
"The boy you hold in your hands is now King Daemon Targaryen. The boy Aegon who died at the sack of King's Landing was a fake, brought by the help of Monford Valaryon to ease the suspicions of King Aerys. Princess Elia was never able to give birth after Princess Rhaenys was born. Prince Rhaegar needed an heir."

Stark looked at the child in his arms and said "He's my blood. I promised my sister to protect him from Robert and protect I will Ser if you let me live"  
Arthur was uncertain but nooded his head. The man promised his dying sister.

"I am his only Kingsguard. I'll take him to Essos and perhaps unite him with other remaining Targaryens as it seems impossible for a Targaryen to live in Westeros now" Ser Arthur spoke in a bitter tone.

Stark frowned and immediately shook his head."I told you I promised to protect him. I will take him to Winterfell and raise him as my bastard son."

  
_Ahh, the honorable Stark who shall honour his sister's last dying wish._

  
"And pray tell me Stark who shall be the boy's mother?"

  
Stark couldn't answer the question.  
"Don't tell me the honorable Ned Stark begotten a child from a Lysene whore during a war"

Ser Arthur walked towards Stark and took the King in his arms and looked at him, really looked at him. The King seemed to have curls of pale brown hair instead of straight Silver liquid like Prince Rhaegar or dark brown curls like Lyanna and his eyes were already purple unlike Prince Rhaegar's dark Indigo. His eye shape was that of the Starks unlike big rounded eyes of Targaryens and his small face structure was that of Targaryens. The child was undoubtedly Prince Rhaegar but his Valyrian colorings were different than that of Prince Rhaegar's. Ser Arthur thought for a moment. Both the wet-nurse and Stark were looking at him. The small Crannogman also arrived inside the room and was looking at Princess Lyanna's body with wide eyes. He handed his King to Wylla and turned towards Stark "I shall pack the necessary documents and items. You take Princess Lyanna's body and ready the horses, we are riding to Starfall"

Ser Arthur didn't wait for response and went to get the marriage documents and the dragon egg that Prince Rhaegar wanted to gift his child. After some time, Princess Lyanna's body was wrapped in a cloth and taken in a cart. They rode for Starfall.

It was nearly a sennight long travel. Taking the route from Prince's Pass, they were careful not to run into Kingsgrave, the seat of House Manwoody. Being born in Dorne, the heat was not much problem for Arthur. Wylla was taking care of the infant King. Ned Stark and his crannogman friend _What was his name? Ah Reed. Yes Howland Reed_ were finding it very difficult to ride in the heat. They are creatures of Cold not heat. Ned Stark's already sullen face looked somewhat even more sullen than possible. Arthur felt sympathy for the Stark. The man lost his father, brother and now his sister. Ned Stark was not like his eldet brother Brandon Stark _the fool_. Arthur remembered the Quiet Wolf from Harrenhal. Where Brandon Stark was ruggedly handsome, boisterous and wild, Ned Stark was sullen, shy and calm. Arthur didn't miss the interaction between the Stark brothers and his sister. Sadly, Ashara was impressed with the elder one. Ash always enjoyed her life and attention she got. Her beauty was very troublesome for Arthur. It got her unnecessary creepy attention. Arthur received the raven informing about Ashara's failed pregnancy just a couple of days. Arthur knew who impregnated his sister. His only plan right now was to pass his infant King as the bastard son of Ashara. Throughout the Usurper's Rebellion amidst the bloodshed even the little birds of Varys would never find out about the failed pregnancy of Ashara. The household is also empty during War. _I just have to convince her_. Arthur hoped.

The morning had dawned the sun sat low in the sky when the white walls and purple roofs of Starfall had at last come into view. It was odd seeing his home after so many years. It have been more than a year last time he saw his sister and he can not even remember when was the last time he saw his lord father.  
  
When they had arrived at the gate of the castle of Starfall, they were immediately hailed by a man in chainmail and purple cloth bearing the sigil of House Dayne. "Halt, who goes there?" The man commanded. "I am Ser Arthur Dayne, the sword of the Morning, inform Lord Dayne and my sister Lady Ashara that I wish to see them." Arthur replied. The man immediately left.

It is said that Starfall was built where the first Dayne found a magic stone after he followed the path of a shooting star. The Daynes were the former Kings of the Torrentine, submitted to House Nymeros Martell during Nymeria's War. At the Conqueror's days, after Ser Joffrey Dayne attacked Oldtown during the first Dornish War, Queen Visenya Targaryen burned Starfall with her dragon _Vhagar_.

The gates were soon opened and they were led inside the castle. Arthur knew where to find his sister so he immediately went up to the Palestone Sword without asking any servent to provide them rooms. The fewer people knows about the King the better. Arthur knew they can not stay here long.  
As soon as he saw Ashara she immediately ran up to him and gave him a tight hug.  
"I was really worried about you" Ashara muttered.

  
"I am fine Ash" Arthur assured his sister.  
After the tight hug, Ashara saw Ned Stark, Wylla and Reed. She looked at Ned and back at Arthur, and then she noticed Wylla who was carrying little Daemon her eyes widened upon realization.


	2. Ashara I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no fuckin clue who is Arthur's father?

####  Ashara 

Ashara's child was a stillborn. _A daughter_. Ashara didn't know in what madness did she commit herself to carry Brandon Stark's Child. _Very weak seeds_. Ashara always wanted to have a child of her own, a daughter more precisely. Now she couldn't.  
_Burn in seven hells Bastard_. She angrily thought about Brandon Stark. The man had charisma to himself that his sister shared but his younger brother lacked. He danced and jested with her made her laugh. He was handsome as well. Ashara settled to share her bed with him. Oh how that prove to be her biggest mistake. The birthing of the child was difficult and either her or the child could only be saved and her father made his decision. Ashara was sad for the lost babe but what the Maester told next devastated her.  
  
She could no longer have any child now. The birthing left her barren just like her dear friend Elia. She locked herself up in the tower and cried unruly for days. 

The tourney of Harrenhal changed all of their lives. She was one of the Ladies in waiting of the Queen. The sweet, poor Queen never deserved her monster of a mad husband. Elia was barren after the birth of Princess Rhaenys so she could not provide Rhaegar with male heirs only the Queen, Rhaegar, Arthur, Oswell, Elia and the Maester knew about that not even Elia's brothers. So the Prince required another bride to provide him heirs. At Harrenhal, he found his bride-to-be in Lady Lyanna Stark. The ice to his fire as Arthur would like to put. What Ashara didn't expected was the Prince to act so brashly. _Why would he just take her without asking her father? Was that Targaryen madness?_ Nevertheless now Rhaegar is dead on Trident. His body a feast for crows. The Usurper now claimed the throne. Poor Elia and her child were brutally murdered. They didn't deserve that fate. Ashara was crying harder thinking about her friend.  
The Mad King is slayed by Ser Jaime Lannister. That madman have right to burn in seven hells for how he tormented the Queen.  
The Queen and the little Prince were evacuated to Dragonstone or she have heard and soon the Usurper would assault there as well. She just hoped that Tywin Lannister or Robert Baratheon would not reach them. After the death of Rhaegar with all hope lost Ashara informed Eddard Stark about his sister. Ashara was informed by Arthur about Lyanna Stark mental trauma upon learning about the fate of her father and brother, and now the death of Rhaegar must have hit her hard. She needed her family member not three devoted Kingsguards. Ashara told herself. 

Just then the door opened. Nobody except for Arthur or father came at her room without knocking. She turned around and saw her brother still in his Kingsguard armour with blood stained at it. She immediately ran up to him and embraced him as if her life was dependent in him.

"I was worried about you" She sounded vulnerable.  
"I am fine Ash"Her brother replied softly stroking her hair.  


After embracing Arthur, she saw Eddard Stark and two other people. Ashara looked at her brother he had a troubled look in his face. She recognized that look it was when Arthur required her help but couldn't voice it. She then turned again towards the guests and saw a blonde women carrying a child in her arms. **Lyanna's child**. She recognized. That's why Ned Stark was here and the look on Arthur's face. She looked at Arthur with wide eyes. Arthur slowly nooded his head with sad eyes as if he already read what she was thinking.  
"Lyanna?" Ashara asked in low voice. 

"Princess Lyanna couldn't survive the childbirth. Its a boy." Arthur whispered back and paused a bit "King"

_By the Seven, Rhaegar had a son. His line is not dead. But for how long?_

Ashara moved towards the wet-nurse and asked for the child. 

After looking at the little dragon Ashara couldn't hold back her tears. Her daughter and this child would have been cousins. She imagined her daughter with dark brown hair and violet eyes like hers. Ashara already knew what Arthur was thinking. He wants to disguise this child as mine. Ashara would be more than happy to do so. The babe was sleeping. She handed the child back. Ashara looked at Arthur and he started mumbling in a worried voice as if he was afraid to tell.

"Ash, I know what I am asking from you is very hard. ..." 

"Art, stop beating around the bush." Ashara interrupted him.

"I know what you want me do. I will be more than happy to raise son of Rhaegar as my and Brandon's child" Ashara noticed how Eddard flinched at the mention of Brandon. Sometimes Ashara felt sad for Eddard. She knew very well he desired her just like every other men before him but was very shy. It was comical to think someone who is a brother of such boisterous men like Brandon and close friend to whoremonger like the Usurper do not know how to act around women. 

"The King will be raised at Winterfell by Eddard Stark as his bastard" Arthur countered her pointing at the Stark. Ashara frowned at that.

"And what about his wife? Do you want to create a rift between them early in their marriage?" Ashara asked

"My lady you shan't be concerned about that. I am more than willing to sully my honor if that is what it takes for the well-being of my nephew." Ashara was touched by the love the man held for his nephew yet she couldn't help but frown at the man if he thinks the world revolves around his honor. _Are all Starks such fools?_ Before Ashara could reply Arthur spoked.

"The entire Dorne will hate our King if you raise him here, Ash. They will see him as no more than Stark's bastard."

Arthur was right. After every thing happened, the Dorne hates Starks as much as Baratheons and Lannisters. "Also our King needs the support of North when he takes back his birthright." Arthur pointed out.

"The North will do no such thing, Ser" Eddard Stark spoke in an icy-tone.

"The Northerns have already bleed too much in your game of thrones. The realm need peace not another war. I will raise my neph..."

"You're a fool Stark if you think there will any peace in the Usurper's reign and even more so if you think I will not help my King to regain his throne." Arthur blazed out.

"It's up to the boy not you whether he will claim for the throne or not" 

"Then I will make sure he claims come rain or shine" Arthur swore with fire in his violet eyes. Ashara rolled her eyes. The fools are going far ahead.

"Stop both of you. We will cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now you should be concerning about how to hide the babe from peering eyes of the Usurper and Lannisters."

Eddard Stark was glaring at Arthur with his icy grey eyes and Arthur was not backing down either. The remaining two of their companion were very concerned.

Eddard Stark looked at her and nodded.  
"I agree my lady but Robert won the throne right by conquest so calling him Usurper again and again will do you no favor." Ashara wanted to lash out at the Stark. She scowled at him but nodded anyways. They don't need to argue any further right now.

Just at the moment her father arrived inside the room and he immediately started glaring towards the Stark with hateful violet eyes. _Great._

"Lord Stark" Her father greeted Stark not even acknowledging Arthur.

"Lord Dayne" Eddard Stark greeted back with a subtle nod.

"If I may ask My Lord why are you here in my castle?" Her father was a man of few words so asked bluntly. Arthur stiffened at her side.

"I have came in your shores of Summer Sea to ask for a favor my lord." Eddard answered with a calm voice.

"Very well. Meet me in my solar then." With that he turned and left the room with his guard.

Ned Stark glanced back at Ashara and Arthur with questioning look. Arthur nodded. Ashara requested the Wet-nurse to stay in her room with the prince. Ned Stark asked the small man to guard the room. The three of them went to her father's solar.

After they were seated inside the solar her father spoke  
"So what is the favor that you have came to ask here my Lord Stark? House Dayne have no love for you and your friend any more than the Martells."  
Ashara really wanted to shout at her father. The man had just carried the dead body of his sister and this is how he is speaking. 

"I know very well my lord you Dornish hate me and let me tell you I don't regret raising against the mad man you hailed as your King." Eddard blurted out. Both Arthur and herself were looking at the Stark with disbelieving eyes. The man is even more straight forward than her father. She looked at her father and saw little gleam in his eyes. _Did he like him already?_ Her father is extremely Targaryen loyalist to the bone. He is more loyal to Targaryens than towards Martells but he is also the type of men who likes honest people. It takes one to know one.

"My sister bore a true born son to Prince Rhaegar. Just recently I came to know they eloped and married at the Isle of Faces with approval from High Septon. If Robert finds out.."

"Then he will butcher the little Prince." Her father finished the sentence.

"King" Arthur interrupted. Ashara kicked Arthur at shin. Her brother maybe the best swordsman of the realm but he is stupid enough not to shut his damn mouth. Her father glared at Arthur. Her father already thinks Arthur failed to protect Prince Rhaegar when it was necessary.

"A king is not born, a King is made" Eddard stated with his northern voice. Ashara saw Lord Dayne again look at Eddard Stark with approving eyes.

"Yes Robert will butcher my nephew." Eddard Stark admitted.

"And do you appove that my Lord?" Lord Dayne asked.

"I never approved what happen to Princess Elia or her children at the first place. I didn't fight the Targaryens to claim the throne for Robert. I fought to get justice for my father and brother and to see my sister. I'll be damned if anything happens to the last piece of my sister. I made a vow to keep my nephew safe and I fully intend to honor it. So no I do not approve it my lord." The respect Ashara held for the man increased after that. 

"So you are going to lie your King and hide your nephew? I believe that's treachery" Her father is testing the Stark.

"I pledged my sword to my King. I shall answer his call in war and rule his northern most Kingdom. I never took vow to go against my family. So my lord you don't need to bother about treachery."

The man must have balls of Valyrian Steel. He came to their home bruised with single companion that can not even raise sword and is going to eye to eye with her father.  
"And regarding the lie I will tell him he is my own blood not my son. There is no lying in that."  
_Clever._ So he have something inside his head. Ashara mused.

Her father cracked a little smile at that.  
"So Lord Stark how may I help you?" Her father asked. Ashara breathed out a sigh of relief. She glanced at Arthur he was in same condition as her.

"Lord Dayne I will raise my nephew as my bastard. I need help from your daughter. I believe the mother of my nephew for now should be your daughter. His eyes shall raise questions." Eddard said his voice now soft.

"Why not your brother's bastard?" Her father again questioned.

"The babe is few moons younger to be passed as Brandon's and it will raise more questions if I raise my brother's bastard with education given to highborn." Eddard replied.  
"Arthur here told me that no one except Queen Rhaella knew about your daughter's pregnancy in Capital and he also told the Maester and servents here in Starfall are loyal to you." Eddard added.

Her father nodded at him and for the first time during the entire conversation he turned towards Arthur.  
" So I presume you are going with him to Winterfell?"

"Yes Father" Arthur answered.

"You have already failed Prince Rhaegar. Do not fail his son now." Her father commanded. His voice as cold as Winter.  
Ashara saw the look of hurt in the eyes of Arthur. He nodded reluctantly.

"I hope you know better than to act as a Kingsguard in Winterfell, Ser. You are coming as a disgraced Knight and Uncle to my bastard"

"I am not stupid Stark. I know how to behave" Her brother was anguished.

"You were stupid enough to help your Prince steal away a Lord Paramount's daughter. Look where we are at now." Eddard stark said with annoyance. Ashara could not help but agree with him. They were really stupid to run like that.

"I am a Kingsguard my duty is to follow the orders of my Prince not to question them. You and your hot-headed brother were very smart enough to believe that anyone could swiftly abduct your sister." Arthur blazed out.

Eddard Stark was about to lash out Arthur at the mention of his deceased brother and sister but thought not to. Her Father was clearly amused at the sight. Ashara was really concerned how will her brother survive the North. 

"What about you my daughter?" Her father asked gaining all three of their attention.

"What about me?" Ashara askrd back with fear in her voice.

"You no longer can provide heirs now that the Maester confirmed you are barren" Her father stated in cold voice breaking her heart.  
Arthur gasped. She didn't inform him in the raven that she was barren. He looked at her with sad eyes and immediately hugged her.

"You also can not go in Winterfell" Ashara frowned at him. Of course the Tullys will revolt.

"I believe you have your duty to your Queen. Aren't you hers lady in waiting?" Lord Dayne questioned her further.

"Yes father but" Ashara was interrupted.

"No buts Ashara we all have our duty. The Queen is pregnant as per the last raven I received. The Usurper's brother is building a fleet to attack Dragonstone."  
What? The Queen is pregnant?

"Stannis?"Ned Stark questioned.  
Her father nodded. 

"You should go and help the Queen anyway you can" Her father stated as if it was a piece of a cake to get to Dragonstone.

"But how can I go inside Dragonstone?" Ashara asked.

"My guards will help you smuggle in." He replied calmly. Ashara had to agree so she nodded.

"I know I am putting you in harm, Ash but trust me daughter it's for the best. People will hate you here in Dorne after learning about Eddard Stark's bastard birthed by Ashara Dayne and you have no place in capital any longer." Her father reasoned with her.  
"You have to live in exile now. Inform our Queen about her grandson." 

"I will father. I will." Ashara agreed.

The new arrivals were given room. The infant prince was allowed to sleep in her room. Tomorrow Arthur, Ned Stark and his friend would ride to capital to pay the Usurper a visit to inform about Princess Lyanna and ride to North.

_It is always darkest before dawn._ Ashara reminded herself.


	3. Arthur II - Ned Stark II

#### 

Arthur II 

More often than not during this entire expedition from Starfall to Kingslanding Arthur thought what kind of cruel games are the gods playing. He should have been at the Trident, side by side with his Prince battling the rebels, facing the Usurper at the battle not guarding a pregnant Lady no matter the Lady is the Prince's wife. Now he is galloping his destrier along the very land of the Usurper. His companion the Usurper's best friend and one of the major rebel lords. Arthur wanted to laugh at his situation right now. 

His father provided them with his best destriers to rode and an adjustable wheelhouse to carry Lyanna's body along with the Wet-nurse and the infant King. They took route from Prince's Pass and moved towards Nightsong past the Red Mountains towards Black Haven, the seat of House Dondarrion. From Blackhaven they took direct devious route towards Felwood, the seat of House Fell of Stormlands, at the southern edge of Kingswood and reached the Kingsroad.

They stopped at multiple inns, crossings and villages but never on any notable nobility castle. Now the night had gathered. Dusk was falling rapidly. They decided to camp at the Kingswood for the night. 

Arthur was in melancholy mood. He heard someone clear throat near him. He glanced up and saw Eddard Stark came and sit across him looking towards the fire.

"In two days time we will reach Kingslanding." Ned Stark told him. 

"Aye" Arthur muttered. 

"Robert won't be delighted to see you" Stark said.

"I don't care what your oaf of a friend thinks" Arthur replied immediately.

"You should now. I shall talk with him and Jon Arryn and try to still the situation as best as I can. It would be better if you stay in some inn in Kingslanding." Ned Stark said. 

"What about Daemon?" Arthur instantly asked him.

"Jon. His name is Jon Snow now." Ned Stark corrected him. Arthur grimaced at that. "For now" Arthur said with distaste. 

"He will come with me at Red Keep with Wylla." Ned added. 

"No way in seven hells I am letting my King anywhere near the Usurper without me." Arthur hissed at him.

"You need to understand, Ser. I must show the babe is my son with Ashara. I have to tell him that Lady Ashara died during childbirth." Ned tried to reason with him. Lord Dayne thought it would be better if they faked Ashara's death. It would give more credibility for Arthur to travel Winterfell to raise Daemon, and Ashara can also be with the Dogwar Queen without any contemptment and suspicions from the Usurper towards House Dayne.

"Then why can I not come? He is my nephew now after all." Arthur asked him though he already knew the answer. 

Ned sighed before answering. "You were one of the Kingsguard that helped to abduct Lyanna." Arthur scowled at him and was about to protest but Ned raised his hand and continued "That's what Robert believes. He may have forgiven Ser Barristan Selmy and the Kingslayer but he won't forgive you and now that I am taking body of my dead sister home. It will be only add an insult to injury if you show up in front of him." Ned Stark had the right of it. Still Arthur was frustrated. He feared how will the Spider react to this. He slowly nodded. 

Silence fell between them. Arthur look briefly at Ned Stark. He looked nothing like Rhaegar. Where Rhaegar had sharp angular face Stark has long solemen face, the dark indigo eyes so different from the grey orbs of the stark. Yet there was the quiet melancholy in his eyes. A sadness that was similar to Rhaegar. 

"You seem very much disturbed when the name of Jaime Lannister is brought up." Arthur said quietly. Ned Stark looked at him and was studying his face in dim light. 

"You don't?" He asked. 

"I do the boy broke the very vow that he swore but.." Arthur hesitated.

"But?" Ned Stark pushed further. Arthur sighed.

"The boy was not like his Father or Sister. He didn't strike to me as the type of guy to play politics. He didn't even realize Aerys added him in Kingsguard to slight his father." Arthur said. "He was full of energy and bright. I trained him myself. He must have had his reasons maybe.."

Ned Stark interrupted him. "You were not at the throne room that day, Ser, I was. He was sitting in the damn throne; golden sword in his hand with Aerys laying dead and he looked really smug." Ned Stark said with disgust in his voice. Maybe he was his father's son. He is a Lannister after all. Arthur thought.

"You really turn a blind eye to the guilty don't you?" Ned Stark accused him. 

Anger stirred within Arthur. He is talking about Rhaegar. "You are thinking I am defending Rhaegar's actions?"Arthur roared. Ned Stark nodded his head.

"You know nothing, Stark." Arthur snarled.

"I do actually. Rhaegar was the Crown Prince. Already a married man, he should have known better than to just run like he did. Lyanna was just infatuated with his pretty looks." _This man really don't know his sister._

"You fool it was your father's ambitions than caused all this." Arthur hissed at him. 

Ned Stark clenched his fist. "How dare you say that?" Ned Stark was really angry now.

They went back and forth not really caring if someone might hear such delicate matters.

"It was what Lord Varys said to Aerys. Your father betrothed his heir to the daughter of another Lord Paramount, Catelyn Tully. He had his spare, you, fostered with heir to Stormsland to the Lord Paramount of Vale. He also betrothed his daughter to the same Robert Baratheon. Stark, Tully, Arryn and Baratheon alliance what do you make of it?"Arthur blured out. Ned was speechless. He shook his head feverishly. 

"Mere coincidence? I think not. Also Hoster Tully wanted to marry his second daughter to Jaime Lannister thus adding Lannisters." Arthur added.

"These are false accusations against my father." Ned Stark rebuked. 

"Whatever. Varys reported to the Mad King, also informed him the Knight of the Laughing Tree was indeed Lyanna. Aerys screamed in rage he wanted the head of Rickard Stark. He ordered his guards to grab Lyanna from Riverlands and then he would have summoned your father." Arthur stated with no emotions on his face. Ned Stark had a horror look plastered in his face.

"Rhaegar immediately went to Riverlands with me and Oswell Whent to safely take Lyanna from the clutches of his mad father. They left a letter to your idiotic brother explaining the situation and send another to Winterfell."

"What? How didn't he get that?" Ned asked.

Arthur shrugged. " Lysa Tully. They handed the letter to Lysa Tully." Lysa Tully had been entrusted to provide the letter to Brandon Stark where every thing was explained. Either she didn't gave the letter at all or that fool of a Stark didn't believe the things written in the letter. For some reasons, Arthur suspected the former. 

"No this is false." Ned Stark stared with bulging eyes. Arthur just ignored the man. 

"Why do you think Aerys burned you father?" Arthur questioned him. Before he could reply Arthur answered himself. "Because your fool of brother just showed up at the Red Keep? He wanted to bring out Lord Stark from his frozen wasteland and your brother just gave him that opportunity" 

"Rhaegar really loved your sister and Lyanna loved him back. Rhaegar always believed his bride should be the _ICE_ to his _FIRE_. When he caught Lyanna as the Knight of the Laughing Tree that moment he fell for her." His voice turned soft now. Shaking his head Arthur started chuckling. " He always thought his son would be his Promised Prince." Eddard was silent now. Soaking all the information. 

"I sometimes curse Rhaegar for leaving me at the Tower of Joy, as he likes to call it, guarding your sister instead of looking after his back at the battle... but I understood he wanted nothing more than the saftey of his wife and unborn child and that was his biggest mistake. He put love over his duty." Arthur admitted. Ned had a understanding look in his face. With that, Arthur stood up and walked away and proceed to sleep. Few hours later, dawn broke and they rode ahead towards Kingslanding. 

Next day near the hour of wolf they reached at the Kingslanding. They arrived at the River Gate one of the seven huge gate that surrounds the high walls of Kingslanding. People in Kingslanding also call it the Mud Gate. The River Gate is near the center of the southeast wall and connects Fishmonger's Square and the wharfs on the Blackwater Rush. Opposite the River Gate on the southern shore of the Blackwater is the Kingswood from where they arrived. They make it pass the Fishmonger's square market after that. Kingslanding was never a quiet place and now after the sack it was even more disrupted. The streets looked like backwash of battlefield. They settle on one of the inns of the Hook for the rest of the night. The next fornoon Eddard Stark would present himself to the Usurper and his life is at stake. 

#### 

NED STARK 

Dawn tinted the darkness and the heat of sun was terrible in Kingslanding. He had no idea how Lyanna stayed at Dorne for over a year. Today he was going to meet Robert and Jon. He prayed to the Old Gods that Robert would believe his lie. Ser Arthur Dayne would be staying at the inn. Howland, Wylla, Jon and himself would go to the Red Keep. It would be an understatement if Ned said he was shocked after how the Knight accused his father. Although there was not any treason that he could have proven yet the feeling left Ned unsettled. Now that Ser Arthur have said it is starting to make little sense. Never had a Stark tried to make such powerful southern ties before. Yet Ned could not fault his father for his actions. The monarch was madman he was just being cautious. It was better to be safe than to be sorry. Ned was reassuring himself. Still some part of his head whispered _Treason_ Ser Arthur didn't voice it but Ned knew he wanted to say Robert would claim for the throne albeit Lyanna. 

Ned felt extremely guilty now. Rhaegar Targaryen took his sister to save her from his mad father. Ned was the one that refused the ceasefire offered by Rhaegar before the battle. Eversince last night, Ned could not look at his nephew whom he is supposed to say his illegitimate son. If only he listened to Rhaegar then the war could have been avoided. Rhaegar wouldn't have been slain though it was hard task to calm Robert down. Ned somehow now knows death of Rhaegar after the tragedy of their father and brother caused Lyanna in very traumatic state and that is the reason she didn't survive the child birth. She was strong women, hell lot stronger than the southern maidens she would have survived had Rhaegar lived. Ned don't know why he is thinking this but he knew it to be true. Now Ned is taking his nephew to the place, which should have been his home by all rights, as a bastard. Ned heart sank. Whatever the game his father played, his children and even grandchildren payed for. The pack will survive.

Kingslanding was coming alive in the morning. Though the streets of the city smelled shit and people even worse, the city was still a sight to behold. The city is defended by High Walls and is sprawling across several miles. The most acknowledged sight of the city have got to be the three hills that everyone have heard about most. Ned has only been once in the damn city before where he saw Rhaenys’ Hill come to light over Flea Bottom casting a long shadow. On top of the hill sit the ruins of the Dragon Pit,a reminder of the depredations of Targaryen rule. Visnya’s Hill hosts the Great Sept of Baelor complete with it’s metal dome. Then came the Red Keep. The place where his father and brother perished. The Keep comes complete with all the towers, from White Sword Tower to the Tower of the Hand, the Maidenvault, and Maegor’s Holdfast. All those palces he only heard off. It stands atop the towering rocks of Aegon’s High Hill. Despite the chaos and bloodshed Eddard was awestruck by the architect of the Castle. The city of the Dragons now belonged to Stags and Lannisters. Last time Eddard was in the city he noticed Lannister soliders more than the Baratheons in the city. The sigil of the golden lion on the field of crimson flying high and soldiers with crimson armours highlighted with black and the replica of lion on breastplate. Walking with grace on the streets as if they have defeated the mythical Others from Age of Heroes. 

Ned arrived at the Red Keep. He wanted nothing more than just to see Robert and Jon then take his sister and her son home and meet his Wife and his newborn son. Ned hadn't been able to much think about them during all these chaos. He remembered his wife. Auburn hair and blue eyes the fine features of Tully. She was a beauty and was supposed to be Brandon's. Ned was hurt when he learnt about Brandon and Ashara actions. How could he just cast aside Catelyn and look towards Ashara only to bed her and leave. Past things should remain in past now. He now has a wife, a son and a kingdom. They were his duty now just like his nephew. Ned still don't know much about his wife he can not trust her about the secret of his nephew. He will hurt her surely but it needs to be done. She may never love his nephew considering Jon as his bastard but it will keep Jon safe and Catelyn shall inadvertently sell the lie that Jon infact really is his bastard. The scorn of one women is nothing in comparison to Robert's wrath or Tywin Lannister atrocity. Only now he needs to face the man he considers his brother in all but name. 

The Red Keep is made of pale red stone and overlooks the mouth of the Blackwater Rush. The Red Keep has seven massive drum-towers crowned with iron ramparts. The castle is smaller than Winterfell. Ned reflected. Usually It would be patrolled by gold cloaks here every loyal Targaryens gold cloaks were killed. Massive curtain walls surround the castle, with nests and crenelations for archers. The walls have great bronze gates and portcullises, with narrow postern doors nearby. The castle also has great cornerforts. The immense barbican has a cobbled square in front of it. The Red Keep has serpentine steps which can be strenuous to climb. Maegor's Holdfast, the small council chambers, the Tower of the Hand, the lower bailey, a small sunken courtyard, and the black cells are located below the steps. The Great Hall with the throne room is found above the steps, and the outer yard or ward is found near the main gate. The place truly looks like the Keep worthy for conquerors. 

Ned went straight to the Great Hall with Howland and Wylla outside at the yard with Lyanna's body. The guard announced his presence and the great oak door banded with black iron opened. He went inside. The Great Hall is said to be second biggest chamber aftet Harrenhal and Ned accepted as true. The first thing Ned saw was the Iron Throne on a raised iron dais with high and narrow steps. A long carpet was stretched from the throne to the hall's great oak-and-bronze doors. The dragon skulls were removed. Ned reflected.

Siting in the Iron Throne was King Robert Baratheon himself. Strong, powerful and muscled like maiden's fantasy looking every inch of a King with his short jet black hair and bright blue eyes and his monstrous spiked iron war-harrmer at his side that Ned could scarcely lift. He was certainly a sight to behold. Near his side stood Jon Arryn with his broad shoulders, blonde hair now turning grey and blue eyes. At the lower steps of the dias was Lord Tywin Lannister. Tall, slender, broad-shouldered man with clean shaven head and pale green eyes flecked with gold. There was another man as well near the corner. The man was also bald but plump and looked somewhat effeminate. The man was wearing strange clothes unlike the other. Ned immediately recognized the man as Lord Varys or the Spider as he is called. The man was looking at him with curious eyes. I have to be wary of the man. Ned reminded himself. 

"Your Grace" Ned knelt before Robert.

"Ahh Ned, rise. Tell me where's Lyanna." Robert immediately came to the main point. He was always blunt and careless. Now he is the King of the Seven Kingdoms but how would he fare as King? With Jon Arryn at his side Ned had his hope. 

Ned shook his head sadly looking at Robert.  
"I was late your grace." Ned politely answered. He saw the absolute look of pain in his blue eyes and a little gleam in eyes of Tywin Lannister. Ned truly believe Robert ferociously loved sister even more so than Rhaegar but alas Lyanna chose Rhaegar not Robert. The look of hurt quickly shifted into rage.

"What about the three remaining dogs of that rapist?"Robert roared. Anxiety was building inside Ned but he remained calm. Varys was attentively studying him. 

"Your grace I would like to have a private audience with you and Lord Hand." Confusion played on Robert's face. Jon looked at Robert. Varys was giving curious look. Tywin Lannister face was unreadable. Robert nodded his head. Varys and Tywin Lannister both left the Throne room.

"Now out with it Ned." Robert

"Your grace I along with six of my companion went to the tower north of Red Mountains where Lyanna was kept. I was informed by Lady Ashara Dayne. The three Kingsguard were there. Both side immediately brawl. The two Kingsguard were killed but Ser Arthur Dayne slew three of my companion before disarming me. He left me alive because he didn't want to kill the father of his new born nephew." Ned told them.

"What?" Robert asked bewildered. Ned sighed. "Aftet Harrenhal before all this havoc, I bedded Lady Ashara Dayne. We were thinking of marrying, your grace."

Robert laughter echoed the empty throne room.  
"Yes, I know your inflation towards the purple eyed beauty. Damn I didn't know you had it in you, Ned"  
It was amazing how easily Robert's mood changes. Ned tried to crack a smile. Jon was also coming out of shock.

"So you got a bastard whelp eh now are you gonna marry her as well like those mad sister-fuckers" Robert jested. 

"Lady Ashara is dead your grace. She could not survive the child birth." Ned lied in a with his down.

"So what about that dog? Where is he?" Robert asked.

"Your grace I urge you to pardon Ser Arthur Dayne. The man swore to take care of his nephew in Winterfell. He wants to raise the last remaining piece of his sister." Robert was uncertain. Ned looked towards Jon pleadingly. Jon understood immediately. 

"Your grace, the man is well-known throughout the Seven Kingdoms. We already have enough animosity from Dorne. We don't need more. The man is going to live with Ned in the North after all." Jon advised Robert. Robert thought for a moment before nodding his head. Ned sighed a breath of relief. 

Robert immediately descedent the throne and spoke. "Now take me to Lyanna, Ned." The King said. Ned nodded. 

"As you wish your grace" Ned bowed his head. 

"Ahh I have had enough of that already" Robert groaned. They went outside in the yard where the wheelhouse was.

Robert was intensely looking at the body of Lyanna. Lyanna looked really beautiful, very much, even with her eyes closed and dead for days. Wylla and Howland were a little farther away both with troubled look on their faces. 

"She looks very beautiful." Robert muttered after a silence. His eyes lingered on Lyanna's face as if he could will her back to life. "She belongs here with me Ned" The King said.

"No. She is a Stark of Winterfell, Robert. This is not her place." Ned reminded Robert.

Robert touched her cheek, his fingers brushing across her pale skin. "I want to kill Rhaegar for what he did to her"

"You did" Ned reminded his friend.

"Only once" Robert bristled. Ned said nothing after that.

"But I will kill every other Targaryen that I get my hands upon." Robert swore with fire in his eyes. Ned shudder at that. There was another Targaryen right here and not any other Targaryen but Rhaegar's son. 

"The bitch left for Dragonstone with her son and she's pregnant. I want them dead" Robert said.

"Must You?"Ned knew better than to argue with him after the sack of Kingslanding. 

Robert glared at him. "The boy is already a threat to my rule and who says he won't be as mad as his father or brother." 

Ned just hoped Ashara safely makes up to Dragonstone and flees across the narrow sea with the remaining Targaryens.

Robert was about to return but little Jon suddenly started crying. Robert noticed Wylla who was still soothing Jon. He went towards them. Ned froze. He hoped Robert won't recognize him as Targaryen. Robert looked at Jon for a brief time before he started laughing. 

"The bastard looks all Dayne no Stark." Ned released the breath he didn't know he held.

"Aye, but he is my blood. I named him Jon after you." Ned said looking at Jon Arryn his foster father. Jon kindly smiled.

"Looks like the good ol Stark seed is not strong enough eh?" Robert teased him. Ned chuckled. He remembered the two bastards that Robert fathered a girl and a boy both black hair and blue eyes similar to Robert. Jon was smiling at them.

"Take it with a grain of salt." Robert told him grinning.

"Robert I need to return to Winterfell soon with your permission. I have been way longer in the Southern soils." Ned told him. 

Robert scowled. "You won't stay until my coronation?" 

"I am afraid I can not. My son is now moons old and I have not seen him. My bannerman have also all returned." 

"Eager to put your cock inside your lady wife now, aren't you?" Robert jested again.

"Not as eager as you to marry the golden lioness"Ned jested back. 

Robert frowned at him and said in hard voice "Lyanna should have been my wife." Ned gulped.

"You can return to your frozen wasteland when ever you wish. You are always welcome here." With that Robert went inside calling for wine. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always believed in Stark-Tully-Baratheon-Arryn supposed conspiracy.


	4. Arthur III - Jon I - Ned Stark III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so someone just told me that Ashara was lady in waiting for Elia in canon now I can not make her Rhaella's, another told me Lyanna was never taken from Riverrun in canon. Damn this is a fanfiction not every thing needs to be as canon right? We can write how we want things to happen.  
> By the way for those I just kinda postponed the Greyjoy Rebellion four years later ;-)  
> Enjoy !!

#### 

Arthur III 

293 AC

The Greyjoy Rebellion was over now. Ned Stark have returned North with the last remaining son of Balon Greyjoy as his hostage. It didn't shock Arthur much when he first heard of Victorian Greyjoy surprised assult on the Lannisport burning the Lannister fleet. He knew not everyone was contempt with the Usurper's reign. The Greyjoys had remained neutral for most of the Usurper's rebellion they didn't suffer heavy losses like the other Great Houses. Over last decade after the Usurper's rebellion, Balon Greyjoy constructed over 200 war galleys, the Iron fleet.

Robert Baratheon commanded Ned Stark to help the Iron Throne. His brother Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone and the master of ships, joined Royal fleet with the Redwyne fleet from Arbor and ships from Oldtown. Robert Baratheon had charged Stannis with building a new royal fleet to seize the island of Dragonstone after the rebellion but the Targaryens survived. Thank the Seven. Robert blamed Stannis for letting them escaped. _That oaf_. He made Stannis Lord of Dragonstone instead of Storm's End as a slight. Now the said brother caught and smashed Victorian's Iron fleet in the Straits of Fair Isle allowing Robert's forces to cross the from the main lands to Iron Islands. Arthur was filled in that his former brother of Kingsguard, Ser Barristan Selemy, now the Lord Commander of Usurper's Kingsguard subdued Old Wyk. Thinking about Selemy had bitter taste in his mouth. The man served House Targaryen way longer than Arthur yet he easily bent the knee after getting pardoned. A Kingsguard vow was for life. Arthur contemplated. 

News reached across the realm that Robert Baratheon with Eddard Stark and Tywin Lannister crushed the Greyjoy Rebellion. After the final battle on the Island of Pyke led by Robert and Ned. Balon Greyjoy surrendered after his heir and spare were killed. His last remaining son was brought by Ned Stark. The boy was four and ten namedays old and looked withdrawn, Arthur could not fault the boy. Arthur himself was much of the same when he first came to Winterfell.

The people used to look at him with hate and distrust many men folk still does especially the master-at-arms of Winterfell, Ser Rodrik Cassel. The man still detest Arthur for killing his brother at Tower of Joy. The knight refused to train Jon. Arthur was more than happy about it. He trains Jon himself unlike Stark heir who Ser Rodrik trains. He have not forgotten the cold look Lady Catelyn Stark gave him when they first arrived at Winterfell's Great Hall. The fact that Ned Stark had to wait for months before his Lady wife allowed him back in her bed was very amusing to Arthur. The women never shared any hospitality towards him and even less so towards Jon. She didn't punish Jon physically but Arthur was sure she loathed his existence. 

Jon never actually cared for the women's bitterness at all. The was sigh of relief and troublesome equally. The boy never cared for anything save for his training and horse riding. Just moons ago before the rebellion, Ned Start gifted him an ink black stallion. Arthur saw the happiness in those ethereal purple eyes. Jon runs like the wind on top of horse. _Just like Lyanna_. He had the charmer looks of Rhaegar but everything else of him screamed Lyanna. The wolfish smile. The same impulsiveness. Wolfsblood as Ned would like to refer. Arthur had his own speculation about the Dragonblood in regards to Jon's headstrong temperament. The boy was a different breed. He find nothing amusing in books like Rhaegar did, then again he never acted like Rhaegar at all. Most of the people of Winterfell liked the boy. It was hard not to like him. Northerners like Dornish were not so obnoxious toward bastards. Arthur was grateful for that. The Stark heir and his King were as close as brothers can be like two peas in a pod. The older Stark girl used to be fond of Jon before she was swayed by her Lady Mother. The second Stark girl, by the seven, the only Star-looking child, loved Jon though she was only four namedays old. The youngest Stark boy was still a toddler.

It was reliving that people in North never saw Rhaegar or else they would have instantly recognize who Jon's father actually is. Not even Catelyn Tully Stark saw the truth but Arthur was sure many in the south like Barristan or Tywin Lannister would immediately see the truth. 

Now it was time for their morning training. He was waiting for Jon at the courtyard near the Great Keep. Winterfell was a huge castle complex stretched across several acres and protected by two massive walls. Winterfell was built around an ancient godswood and over natural hot springs, so Arthur have heard.

It is situated atop hot springs which keep the castle warm even in the worst winters. It amazed Arthur how warm was the keep itself. Inside the walls, the complex is composed of dozens of courtyards and small open spaces. Weapons training and practice take place in those yards. The inner ward is a second, much older open space in the castle where archery practice takes place. It is located next to the broken tower. Inside Winterfell stands the inner castle, which contains the Great Keep and the Great Hall. Winterfell's towers and halls have diamond-shaped window panes. The castle was very old but had a beauty in itself. All these years, Arthur still felt like an stranger to the castle and to it's people which should not come as surprise to him because he in fact is a stranger waiting for the time his King would be ready to gather alliance for the Iron Throne. Arthur have just received twice raven from his father with hidden message of Ashara's safe arrival at Braavos and their journey to Volantis. Arthur hoped he would soon be able to tell his King the truth and meet the remaining Targaryen and his sister. They can not afford to stay in this frozen hellhole any longer than necessary.

#### 

Jon

The morning dawned clear and cold. The castle was coming alive. Jon woke up and dressed up in his regular black tunic with grey leather jerkin and black breeches. He went to the kitchen and broke his fast with some bread and honey. None of the Starks were there and he was thankful for that. It was still early in the morning. Jon was happy in Winterfell though it never felt like _home_. Yet that was what most of the bastards could not say. He appreciated what his father did for him, not only he gave him home but to his Uncle as well. He learned from very little age what bastard meant and Lady Catelyn Stark's cold blue gaze certainly helped him to understand his position. 

His half-brother was different but. Robb didn't hate him or shunned him like his mother did. He appreciated him. Robb didn't fear about Jon contesting for Winterfell as Jon suspects Lady Stark have night terrors about. He would never betray his brother like that. Sansa also used to happily play with him but recently she started ignoring him just like her mother, not than Jon cared. He got more important things to do than care for Sansa's insolence and is quite thankful he need not to hear her terrible songs about gallant southern Knights and Princes. He dearly hoped his little sister Arya would not be anything like Sansa. She certainly looks far from Lady Stark. Jon reflected. Other than Lady Stark and handful of people in Winterfell, not many cared that Jon was bastard and view him as some sinister being as that damnable Septa sees him. 

His Uncle Arthur Dayne, one of the greatest swordsman of the Seven Kingdoms, so he had been told by many people, has always been light at the end of the tunnel for him. His Uncle always viewed him with high regard why Jon knew not. His Uncle was also very hard man when it comes to sword drilling. He was not present in the kitchen so he must have already went to the courtyard. Jon immediately shot up and went to the training yard after breaking fast. 

Jon reached the training yard and glanced around to see his Uncle waiting for him. He was tall man with broad shoulders and very handsome too. His father does not even hold candle next to him. Jon noticed. With his near silver-gold blonde hair and violet eyes he certainly attracts alot of eyes from women in the castle. Jon himself have been teased as pretty as maiden almost everytime by Robb and other guards and that was very irritating to say the least. He looked like father no more than Robb did. _His mother_... the Lady Ashara Dayne. Jon thought about his mother rarely. He knows she died birthing him. It pains to think that way. Jon didn't know what she looked like, Uncle Arthur tells not much about her either. Painful memories Jon supposed. He believes he got his mother's looks. He certainly resemble Uncle Arthur at least in eye color though different shades. His uncle's were more bluish violet and his were purple.

"You are late Jon" He said in hard voice. His Uncle was easy smiles to him any other time but in times like sparring and training. He would turn his face as sour and cold as he had seen his father around Lord Bolton.

"Why, Nuncle, I see none in the courtyard." Jon said calmly before adding "Except you and me of course." His Uncle gave him an unimpressed look before smirking.

"I was just trying to save you from people seeing your pretty little ass handed over to you." 

"Tis' but a...” Jon started.

"WARM UP" His Uncle all but yelled. 

Jon was startled and immediately started warming up. After few more minutes Jon picked up the heavy blunt sword started drilling. He knew the basic sword drilling techniques his Uncle taught him and it was very different than what Ser Rodrik instructs Robb. He knows naught why Ser Rodrik never seem to acknowledge him in the training yard but he was certain when he beats Robb in the friendly spar perpetually it pisses him close to Lady Stark and Jon takes great pleasure in doing so and Uncle Arthur even more so.

He stood in an even stance and slashed the heavy sword, gripping with both hands, vertically back and forth. 

"Rotate around the shoulder axis" Ser Arthur Dayne instructed. Jon always saw his Uncle as the previously great Kingsguard Ser Arthur Dayne during swords training.

"Now cut with straight arms in the height of your shoulders." Jon obeyed. He was taller than Robb was. A bit taller in contrast to his age. 

"Go on with cuts from below in a wide circle" The sword drilling session went on for quite some time before other started joining the courtyard. Jon was painting a little when Robb started walking towards him. Jon was given a break by Ser Arthur. He was drinking water from the waterskin.

"Early training like always" Robb greeted him. Jon nodded. 

"It is a shame, you could not join us." Jon said. 

"I would love to but Ser Rodrik Cassel is adamant" More like your lady mother does not want her son to be anywhere near me or my uncle. Jon didn't voice that.

"Must be real hard for him then not to shed tears everytime I knock your ass." Jon jested. Robb rolled his eyes at that.

"One day I shall beat you, Jon" Robb vowed. His blue eyes looked determined. 

"The Wall would melt before that." Jon bantered.

"So you are the bastard here." Some foreign voice ringed in his ear. Jon and Robb both turned their head to see the one who said. It was the hostage. Theon Greyjoy. 

"Theon" Robb greeted him.

"Why, yes I am" Jon replied. Theon Greyjoy was lean, dark and handsome young boy. He was certainly elder than him and Robb.

"Nothing. Just knowing people around here." The Greyjoy said arrogantly. There was this smugness about him that amused Jon.

"And?" Jon queried him curious.

"Just saw you training bastard. Ever swung a real blade before?" The confidence of this piece of shit needs to be admired. Jon thought. 

Jon shook his head. "Would that I could." He wants to know how good this Kraken is. He is carrying a longsword in a scabbard stripped. 

"Really Bastard?” Jon nodded. Jon long ago accepted the fact that he was a bastard so the constant nagging of the Kraken didn't bother him at all. Robb tensed visibly. 

"Then why don't we spar with live steels?" Greyjoy was giving him a smug grin. Jon knew it could be risky. He didn't know how good this Greyjoy is? But he would be damned before he let the Greyjoy grace him with another of his cocky smile and call him coward. 

A faint smile touched his lips and he nodded. 

"Then it is settled." Theon cried out loud gaining most of the attention. Even Uncle Arthur was looking at him. "Jon Snow and I are going to spar using live steels." He announced. 

Jon looked at his Uncle. He scowled for a second but said nothing. He wants to see how I would fare against the squid. The master-at-arms looked hesitant but didn't bother to stop. No doubt waiting to see me getting bruised. Robb was worried. Jon just smiled at him reassuringly. 

Jon went to the center of the yard. He picked up real sharp edged sword. Theon Greyjoy had already unsheathed his longsword. The crowd was gathering around. 

"Whoever yields or draws the first blood looses." See Rodrik told them. Both of them nodded.

"Start" Ser Rodrik yelled.

They started circling each other. Theon attacked first by lifting the sword high Jon simply parried the blow. Theon was stronger and taller than him and his blows were harder than that of Robb but they were no match comparing to Ser Arthur's blows. Theon swung the sword right and left but Jon parried with firm movements. Jon was quicker than Theon. Jon wanted to tire out the Greyjoy. So he didn't try to land blows. The Kraken seems to be losing the patience the longer sparing went on. Theon swung madly for his head Jon immediately dodged before sidestepping him. Jon seized the moment and started attacking. Jon stepped back a bit and swung his sword vertically Theon barely managed to block it. He switched his stance from right to left and sliced from below in the wide circle around his shoulders like he had been taught by his Uncle. Theon yelped in pain. His upper arm drew blood. Theon dropped his longsword straight away and was on his knees covering his sliced arm. The fighting ended. Some of the guards even cheered. 

He glanced around to see his Uncle watching him with approvingly. Robb was regarding him with amazement. From the corner of his eyes, he caught a glimpse of his father upstairs standing at the bridge between the armory and the Great Keep. He looked up and saw his father and Lady Stark. His father was peering at him with something like troubled look on his face? Lady Stark was gawking at him with the same expression of faint distaste she had worn ever since he could remember. He then turned to see Theon looking at him with such hateful blue eyes that could rival even Lady Stark. Jon smriked at him. 

The nerve of this squid to act around as if he was the Prince of Seven Kingdoms when he was naught but a hostage taken as a ward by his father was comical. 

The kraken was taken to attend Maester Luwin. Robb instantly approached him and gave him a brief hug.

"You fought really well,Jon." Robb complimented. 

"Still think you can beat me?" Jon boasted. Robb had the Stark name that he could never have and he envied him for that so Jon pushed himself further to be better than Robb at almost everything and would take every opportunity to slight Robb.

Before Robb could retort he heard a familiar voice. "We are getting arrogant now, aren't we?" His Uncle was smiling at him. 

Jon shrugged his shoulder"Not as much as that squid." 

"I call it for the morning session." His uncle announced. 

"So no sparring today?" Jon gave him a curious look. 

"Later in the evening." With that his uncle walked away.

He grinned looking at Robb. "Why don't we race around Wintertown now that the morning session is over? We still got time for Maester Luwin lessons" 

Robb frowned. "Not mine. I have not even started." He turned his gaze around and saw the sour look of Ser Rodrick. 

Jon smirked at Robb and said"Go on brother, before Ser Rodrick face turns more sour than father's when last time he ate the lemon cake made by Sansa." Robb chuckled.

Jon went to the stables. He met Hullen there. The master of horse at Winterfell. He was old man. His son Harwin was more fun. Jon told him he is going to ride his horse. 

"Good morrow Shadow" Jon greeted his horse. He named it Shadow for it's appearance. He have not told anyone but sometimes in his dreams he can see through Shadow's eyes. The feeling was really strange. It was like he was inside Shadow like Old Nan's stories about Wargs and skinchangers. 

"Let's go for a short ride before Maester Luwin's lesson, shall we?" It was unusual but he loves talking to Shadow. 

Jon dragged his horse out of the stable and put saddle on. He went towards the south gate and requested the guard to open the gate for him. The guard opened the gate. Jon rode through the winter town on his way to wolfswood. The place was pleasant. He had went with his Uncle a couple of times hunting, well his uncle hunted wild-boars and he watched above the tress, it was very fun. 

#### 

Ned Stark

It has been ten years since Ned returned home with his nephew and Ser Arthur Dayne. Between these years Ned saw Jon more as his son and less a nephew. His wife was furious when he said he have promised Jon's mother to raise him in Winterfell. She didn't even allowed Ned to be with his son alone for moons but eventual gossips among the people had been too much for his wife to handle. She was very dutiful women, his wife. In all these years Ned have come to love her with all his heart. They have four beautiful children together. She was a loving mother to her children though sometimes she acted way too much southern. He agreed to built a sept for her. They agreed Robb and anyother future sons will mostly follow the old traditions of the North as they are to live in the North but girls would follow the southern customs mostly. His eldest daughter just like his other two sons have Tullys coloring, the same auburn hair and crystal clear blue eyes, but where Robb have his face and Bran have his eye shape and nose, Sansa was all Catelyn. There was naught of Ned in her. His second daughter Arya was all him however. There was not an ounce of Catelyn in her. She also somewhat resembled Lyanna. Just a four namedays old and his daughter was already rebellious and howled like a she-wolf. But it was not his daughter than reminded him of his dead sister. It was Jon. 

The boy also lacked Northern looks like his sons. His hair the soft pale sandy brown not like dark brown of Stark, his eyes.. those damn haunting purple eyes shining like amethyst. His aquiline nose shape and high cheekbones the traits he got from Rhaegar. Yet the wild curls falling like ringlets, full plump lips, those monoloid eye shapes and those pale unblemished skin like the snow itself marked him as Lyanna's son. The boy really got the best in looks from both of his parents. Sometimes it terrifies Ned that people will see Jon is not his son but thankfully the beauty of Ashara Dayne is still legendary. Jon also acts like Lyanna all the same. When he gifted him horse he didn't expected the boy to ride so gracefully. He rode just like Bran and Lya. Today what he saw terrified him. The boy beat four years his senior in a sparring match drawing blood. Arthur was making a demon out of the boy in the yard. No boy of ten should have fought that gracefully. He remembered how Arthur vowed to place Jon on the Iron Throne. Nes shudder at the thought. If Robert finds out about the truth then Seven hells would break lose. His entire family would be at danger. Thankfully Arthur has not done anything stupid in the name of gaining allies. 

Ned was happy to see his friend again during Greyjoy's rebellion. Robert seemed almost stranger to Ned until he crushed him in a bone-crashing hug and laughed with the familiar roar. The stag and the direwolf joined to end the vanity of the self-proclaimed King of Iron Islands, Balon Greyjoy. Once clean shaven Robert was now with beard as coarse and black as iron wire covering his jaw to hid his double chin, his body then muscled like a maiden's fantasy now no more but his strength remained same. He was still the six and half feet tall gaint with that iron spike warhammer of his donming his armour and the great antlered helmet of his house towering over lesser men with the outrageous fury. Ned want not to be at the opposite end of his fury. For it is not just Robert Baratheon that he have to face but Tywin Lannister as well if Jon claims for the throne. He just prayed to the old gods, when Arthur tells Jon about his parentage, Jon would think twice about his family before making any decision. 


	5. Rhaella I - Daenerys I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> History lessons. Credit much to AWOIAF.

#### 

Rhaella Targaryen I

Volantis 

Rhaella had escaped that unfaithful day when the Usurper's brother had came to assault at Dragonstone. Just a sennight earlier before their escaping Ashara Dayne had came to her. When she told her about Rhaegar and Lyanna marriage and their son, Rhaella was finally able to crack a smile after the battle at Trident. She knew that Elia's womb would never quicken after Rhaenys. When the news of Rhaegar abducting Lyanna Stark reached her ears she knew something was wrong. _Her son_... Her sweet Rhaegar was noble, he would have never performed those acts. It was only when Ashara clarified her of the rumors, understanding dawned upon her. Rhaella somewhat blames herself that she raised her son way too lenient. Rhaella used to read her son books about ancient Targaryens and the Promised Prince. At the command of her father King Jaeherys II Targaryen, Rhaella and her brother Aerys were married. Her father was influenced by the woods witch brought to court by Jenny of Old Stones, who prophesied that the Prince that was promised would born from their line. Rhaegar took it way seriously than she would have liked, not that she hated Lyanna Stark. She realized her life was really tear down by that damn witch. Had it not been the witch，her father would not have her married to her brother and if not for the prophecy her boy would have not hurried to marry Lyanna Stark. Be that as it may, her boy would have all but not gone way far if he had not love Lyanna. 

Rhaella thanked the gods for Ashara. She was very useful. She felt pity at her for her lost child. Rhaella was nearly on the verge of dying but the thought of her new born daughter and her son would be left orphans gave her strength to live. She endured. They sailed to Braavos after fleeing from the Dragonstone. 

She had a conflicting feeling when Ashara told her about Ser Arthur and her grandson living with Ned Stark at Winterfell. Sure she did not doubt Eddard Stark would betray his own nephew in accordance with the the story she have heard about Eddard Stark. It is said that Lord Stark was the only one who protested about the brutal murder of Elia and her children. The thought of her granddaughter getting stabbed half a hundred times and Elia getting raped by Twyin Lannister men gave her nightmares. Lord Stark was as honorable men as they say but she doubted how much time would Varys take before realizing the truth. What will happen to her grandson when Robert finds out? 

She prayed to the seven that he would be safe in Winterfell and Eddard Stark would do everything in his power to protect him. She still longed for the day when she would see her grandson, the last piece of her beloved son. Right now she needs to focus on keeping her daughter and her son from harms way. The Usurper sent assains after them in Brravos. They had to flee from Braavos. Lord William Darry, the only person she could trust besides Ashara, was also getting old. Then she heard about Volantis. 

Volantis, the first daughter of Valyria, it is said. She was told that the due to her Valyrian features Volantis would be safest for them in Essos. Soon they sailed for Volantis. 

Volantis is one of the nine free cities of Essos. Volantis is the southeastern-most of the Free Cities, located east of the Disputed Lands. 

The climate of Volantis was hot and humid, the air was hot and heavy when they arrived two years ago. Beyond the waterfront and its breezes the streets and alleys of Volantis were enough to drown a man in his own sweat, as least on the eastern side of the river. Rhaella observed. In Volantis the nights are almost as hot as the days. Her Targaryen blood made her endured the heat. 

Volantis is a port city. Its large, deep harbor is ideally placed. The people here in Volantis claimed that the hundred isles of Braavos could be dropped into the harbor and disappear. She very well doubt that. Volantis spreads across the mouth of the Rhoyne and across the hills and marshes on both sides of the river. The older districts of the city lie upon the eastern banks, while the newer districts are located on the west. These two halves are connected by the Long Bridge. The Long Bridge joins the two halves of Volantis across the mouth of the Rhoyne. It is a great span with a road supported by massive piers that the Valyrians built at the height of their glory. Its gateway is an arch of black stone carved with sphinxes, manticores, dragons, and other beasts. The road is wide enough for two carts to pass abreast. Buildings rise on either side of the roadway. One can buy almost anything in the shops on the Long Bridge. She had read about the bridge, the eighth wonder of the world, it is called, when she was still Princess in the court of her father King Jaeherys II. She remembered her days back in Kingslanding where she was naught but a Princess who could read different books of Essos and other fascinating things roaming around Maegor's holdfast. 

The only thing she didn't like here in Volantis were slavers. Volantis is key to the slave market, trading heavily with the cities of Slaver's Bay to the east. There are five slaves for each freedman in Volantis. Each slavers had tatoo marked on their face. A single tear beneath the right eye for prostitutes. A horsehead on the cheek for workers in stables. Flames across the cheeks, chin and forehead for priests of the faith of R'hllor. A wheel tattooed upon one cheek for driver of an hathay, the cart pulled by Dwarf elephants. The Volantenes people claimed that travelling afoot can taint visitors in the eyes of foreign born captains and the Volantenes alike, therefore persons of quality travel in the back of a hathay. The traditional slavery custom started in Volantis by her ancestors. The Temple of the Lord of Light is located in the eastern half of Volantis, it was about three times the size of the Great Sept of Baelor in King's Landing. Rhaella reflected. 

The Black Walls of eastern Volantis protected a large warren of palaces, courtyards, towers, temples, cloisters, bridges, and cellars. The Black Walls are a great oval of fused black dragonstone, harder than steel or diamond, built two hundred feet high by the Valyrian Freehold. She was awestruck by it's beauty. The Valyrians of old certainly had an eye for beauty and art. 

The Black wall protects the oldest part of the city on the eastern shore, often called Old Volantis. It was wide enough for six four-horse chariots to race around its top abreast, as is done each year to celebrate the founding of the city. Many inside the Black Walls keep the old gods of Valyria, but R'hllor is favored outside the Black Walls, both by slaves and freedmen. 

The Old Blood in Volantis referred to some of the population in Volantis, noble families who can prove unbroken descent from old Valyria itself. Only those of the Old Blood were allowed to live within the Black Walls of eastern Volantis, and only they can invite slaves, freedmen, or foreigners to enter. Freeborn Volantenes with enough property can vote. There are precious few voters on the western side of Volantis, over the river. Being a pure blood Targaryen and all the Valyrian colourings she and her children were allowed to live inside the Black Walls, even Ashara's violet eyes and her near ethereal beauty were misinterpreted for being a Valyrian descended. Not that they had any intention to amend them. Essos was really strange. 

Volantis is ruled by three triarchs, chosen annually through festive and tumultuous elections. While foreigners might see the elections as chaotic, they are usually peaceful. All freeborn who own land, regardless of gender, are allowed to vote. They are chosen from amongst the noble families who can prove unbroken descent from old Valyria, and will serve until the first day of the new year. The triarchs of Volantis are considered so elevated that they are not allowed to have their feet touch the ground during their year of service. The elections last ten days, with much campaigning and bribery.

The triarchs belong to one of two political parties, the elephants and the tigers. The elephants are the party of the merchants and moneylenders advocating trade, while the tigers are old aristocracy and warriors interested in conquest. At no time has more than one tiger been named triarch. Some of the first elephants were women, one of whom, Trianna, was returned four times. Volantis has not had a female triarch for three hundred years.

The current triarchs are the tiger Malaquo Maegyr and the elephants Doniphos Paenymion and Nyessos Vhassar. 

She was desperate to return to her home. Targaryens were dragons, here she was living with people who might have little to no Valyrian blood claiming to be direct Valyrian descends boasting about their golds and slaves. She loathed their presence. 

Rhaella slowly started getting in the politics of Volantis. Being a former Queen and pure Valyrian colorings sure made her presence powerful. Rhaella was slowly trying to persuade the Tigers to fight for her.

_I am a Dragon._ Or Was she?

_Dragons answer to neither gods not men._ Why should she flee from lesser humans?

_Dragons never forgets._ She won't forget nor forgive all those who destroyed her House.

House Targaryen shall rise again. The banners of three headed red dragons on black field will rise high again.

Then Stags, lions, falcons, fish and wolves will all bow to the Dragons. Rhaella vowed.

#### 

Daenerys I

Daenerys was inside her chamber sitting in her bed, reading the books as she always does. Daenerys loved reading books. She was a girl so she could not train with swords, or so her brother says. They had been chased out from their home by the Usurper after her brother Rhaegar failed to defeat him. She was a princess living in exile. Her brother Viserys swore to take them home. He believes himself as the true King, albeit her mother told them years ago that their nephew Daemon, as he is named, is the rightful heir. Viserys did not take that news kindly. He believes father named him his heir after Rhaegar failed. He once said unruly that her nephew is naught but a bastard and he has got the right name for that matter. That was the moment she saw her mother truly got angry. _Don't wake the Dragon._ At that moment she knew what it looked like to wake the dragon. Since then Viserys never unruly spoke about Daemon. Viserys loves to fancy himself as pure blooded true dragon. Daenerys urge to roll her eyes every time he says that and he says that very often.

Currently she was reading about history of Essos. The first ever known civilization was The Great Empire of Dawn. It was even before the Valyrian Empire. The Empire covered all the lands from The Bone Mountains, the tallest mountain in the known world lying in the center of Essos, and The Grey Waste, vast desert in far eastern Essos. Their ruler was called the God on Earth, the only son of Lion of Night and the Maiden Made of Light, and he ruled for tens of thousand years. Dany wanted the shut the book right then. No way a man would live that long but what did she expected from Legends.

She continued reading. A few generation later, the son of Opal Emperor, Bloodstone Emperor, the descended of God on Earth, killed his sister, the Amethyst Express, to take the Empire for himself. Dany felt her stomach coilled with abhorrence. She could not picture Viserys doing that to her. He would never do that to her... Or would he? What the Bloodstone Emperor did to his sister was known as _Blood Betryal_ and many believed his action caused _The Long Night_. Dany was fascinated by the stories of The Long Night though Viserys shut them down saying they are the gibberish stories created by the Northern savages. 

The next Empire was the Golden Empire of Yi Ti, which exists till now. The place is east of Qarth and The Bone Mountains and bordered by Jade sea to south. The Empire consists of green farmlands and jungle. 

There were two Kingdoms that claimed to have first built towns and villlages. They were Kingdoms of Sarnor, north-east side if Essos and Ghis. Before Valyria, it was the old Empire of Ghis to conquer and rule over Essos. It reigned supreme over Essos for thousands of years before the Valyrian freehold. Dany studied that the empire began from the city of Ghis within the Ghiscari region led by Slaver's Bay. Their influential military strength and the Unsullied fighting style was powerful enough to truimph over areas around Ghis. They were nearly undefeatable prior to dragon eggs found in the volcano of Valyrian Peninsula. She devoured that the once their ancestors were peaceful shepards but it all changed when in time they learned to tame dragons and became sublime sorcerer while the old empire of Ghis was expanding and building pilgrimages and Towers. _Interesting._

Valyrian freehold began nigh five thousand years ago. There were five battles between Valyrians and Ghiscaris. Every war ended with victory for Valyrians. The dragonfire and Valyrian steel overwhelmed Ghiscaris. The capital city of Ghis was all but wiped out. The most powerful Empire was vanquished to the point that where their culture and language all but vanished for good. The Ghiscari were infamously known for their slaves something that Valyrians took notes of. Dany felt disgusted reading that. An opinion that her mother shared but her brother did not. He have confidence in that only Valyrians like them have right to possess slaves. 

Dany continued reading. The survivors of the wars were forced to mine volcanos and all their city was colonized. The Valyrian freehold quickly became the most powerful and advanced civilization in human race that other people started believing Valyrians were Gods among Humans. The belief uplift Valyrians' ego to no end. Something that her Targaryens ancestors and even her brother shared. All because of Dragons. Dany mused. Though some of the credit also goes to their ethereal beauty. Something that her mother, her brother and herself got. 

Dany then read that the people of Asshai by the shadow claimed that the dragons first appeared in Shadowlands. It is said that the city has been there since the world began and will be there till the known world ends. With all magic that she heard is performed in that city, Dany found not hard to consider. Dany knows Asshai is the most mysterious placed in the Known World as mysterious as the Lands of Always Winter and the ruins of Old Valyria. Places such as those may scare others but it always intrigued her.

Dany then carried on reading about Asshai. The city is said to be huge but not much populated. It is said that people in there walk with face covered in masks or hoods and children are never seen there. The dark magic is performed there. It was the only place where the ritual was not forbidden. The book recited that the only source of water there is river called Ash. It is written that in day the river is black but glows green in night. Dany snorted at that. The water is undrinkable and fishes are blind and deformed. Do they check on fishes before eating? All animal brought to Asshai soon dies. The city is in darkness with the buildings made of oily black stone that absorbs light. _Is there anything other than unsophisticated there?_

The Shadowlands is mysterious mountain region covered with ghost grass. It was written that Ghost grass is a tall, white plant that kills other life. _Damnation_. The only city in the Shadowlands in STYGAI. The city is ruined and is known to be haunted even the creepiest Shadow binders are afraid to go there. Unbelievable. Dany sarcastically thought. 

Dany viewed the people of Asshai and other eastern region of Ghiscari were fortunate enough that the Dragonlords of old Valyria had their eyes set on conquering Western Essos. The Valyrians were attacking the Andals of Andolas causing them to flee to Westeros. The first colony established by the Valyrian freehold was Volantis. Dany was slightly shocked at this. She knew Volantis was one of the free cities that used to be Valyrians' colony but she know not it was the very first. The name first daughter of Valyria now makes sense, she assumed it was because of it's sheer size. Dany imagined the worse thing here besides slavery in Volantis was the fire worshipping Priests. 

Tyrosh, another then Valyrian colony now free city, was military colony of the freehold. It is written that Lys was the paradise vacation spot for the Dragonlords. The Valyrians were notoriously known for sexual preference. Dany was unsettled reading that. No wonder there are many Valyrian looking people in Lys. Dany mused. Myr and Pentos were two merchandise colonies. Lorath, Nervos and Qarth were lesser known and lesser traded colonies.

The last of the free cities was Braavos. It was never a colony under Valyrian freehold. The place hold memories to her. They used to live in Braavos in the big house with red door. She had a small room there unlike the big exorbitant room here. She liked her room back there than this. She remembered the lemon tree outside her window. She was more happy and safe there but soon the Usurper assassin's came for them. Two guards and a servent died protecting them. So they had to flee. If not for Muna and Ashara, Dany knew not what would happen to them. 

She was lost in her thoughts when the door opened and she heard footsteps clicked on the stone. She glanced towards the door steadying herself and saw her brother walk inside. Viserys like herself and her mother have classic Valyrian looks. He had shoulder length straight Silver-blonde hair like their mother, though Dany had pure Silver moonlight hair, but he had pale lilac eyes unlike hers or munas violet or even Lady Ashara's. He was a man grown now at Seven and Ten namedays old. He was dressed in red doublet and black breeches. She once asked how he can wear such clothes in hot weather like in Volantis. His reply was he appears more Kingly. 

Viserys appeared in her room with what looks like a gown. He smiled at her. Viserys at times was very insufferable due to his anger but mostly there are times where he did care for her and so did she to him. When Muna or Ashara could not tell her stories about her home, Viserys would tell her about Dragonstone and Red Keep. Today it looked he was in very good mood. 

She smiled back.

"You are still reading, háedar?" He asked her sitting near her bed.

"Why, yes I am lèkia?” Viserys never liked reading, only when it was about House Targaryen.

He showed her the gown. 

Daenerys raised a brow at him.

"Isn't it beautiful? Touch it. Caress the fabric."

Dany put the book aside and touched it. The cloth was very smooth and soft. She had not wear anything like that. "Is this for me?"

"A gift from Malaquo Maegyr" He smiled again. She didn't like the man.

"Why did he give this to me?" Over two years they have been living inside the Black Walls and the man seemed to be doing everything to get under her mother and brother's good graces. 

"We are the blood of conquerors Dany. I am the King and you're a royal Princess. Sure you are smart enough to know why people wants be under our good graces being said you're the curious scholar." Viserys chided her. Dany kept her mouth shut. She want not to argue with her brother about who is the true heir. It is useless as he is sitting here in Volantis doing naught but babble and their nephew in the North living life as bastard of the friend of the Usurper. She only had her hopes with her mother. Not that she would say it to Viserys. 

Some of the tension might have played on her face as Viserys sighed before saying. "You are thinking about our nephew Daemon, don't you?"

Dany nodded. Viserys looked at her intensely with his lilac eyes。

"I don't hate him given that I haven't seen him at all. I would gladly accept him as my nephew as he also has the blood of dragon in his veins. Not only that I would accept him as Prince Daemon of House Targaryen." Dany was a little surprised at that.

"But what I would not accept is him being the true heir cause he is not. Father made me his heir, Dany, no matter what Muna says. He can be my heir until I have my own son." Viserys said. Which is very likely. Dany thought. Viserys thinks that all the women in the world would fall for his beauty. Given his credentials, it was hard to argue. Her mother seems very displeased at his sexual prowess. She is afraid he might beget a bastard from some of the noble ladies of Volantis. 

Dany beamed him a smile and said. "Sure lékia"

He stood up. "When we gain the Tigers army here. We shall move to Pentos, sister. There is a Magister named Illyrio Mopatis, who is inviting us to stay in his house. The man is promising to help us gain an army. Maybe Golden Company. He is said to have friends all over free cities and, even beyond, in Vaes Dorthrak and the fabled lands besides the Jade sea." 

Dany groaned. Again they have to leave sooner or later. Such is the price of being a Targaryen now. Roaming from city to city as beggers. She hoped one day they would reach their home. Perhaps in the back of Dragons. Dany was daydreaming. She shook her head. There maybe more chance of her becoming a Dorthraki Khaleesi than hatching a Dragon. Not that she wanted to be one. 

She reluctantly nodded her head at Viserys. With that he left, Dany slumped back in her bed。 


	6. Jon II - Arthur IV

####  Jon II 

_The comets tail spread across the dawn, a red slash bled above like a wound in the pink and purple sky. The comet had colors of blood and flame. Jon was in amazement seeing the comet instantly Jon was somewhere else._

__

_He was in a different place. The place looked like a castle. It was smaller than Winterfell but beautiful and even more greyed. The place was grim and made of black stones and there was a tower that looked liked in the shape of the ancient beast. No. It was in the shape of dragon. The gargoyles were looking beautiful and scary at the same time. The smoking shadow of mountain at it's back._

__

__

_But Jon was not viewing the castle from below, he was flying in the air. The ground was so far beneath him he could barely make it out through grey mist that whirled around him. Without even feeling anything Jon was swirling towards the high stone roofed bridge. He felt he was inside some kind of bird. At the bridge he saw a figure standing. It was a man. Jon was nearing towards the man who was standing there, and when he saw who it was, Jon was bewildered. Jon saw himself standing there looking towards him with head high and eyes full of wonder._

__

__

_He was no longer a ten name days boy. His hair was longer and he looked more taller and muscular. Suddenly, his mind was slipped from the bird and reinstated into his own. He was now in the ground and what he saw above took his breath away. It was a huge red dragon. The dragon was gigantic with body a deep red magenta and eyes the color of blood. The dragon looked really sublime and Jon was looking at it with astonishment and fear. Suddenly the dragon was about to burst him. The teeth were shinny and sharp. Jon noticed. The flames were coming out from its mouth. Jon felt like he forgot to breathe momentarily. It was so real. Instead the dragon breathe the flames in sky._

Jon woke up from his dream panting hard, sweat on his forehead even in such cold night. He tossed his sheets way and shot up from his bed. _A dragon. I saw a fucking dragon in my dream.What is that suppose to mean?_ Jon pondered. 

_Bad dreams. The dragon was about to eat me. His eyes were full of bloodlust._ Jon thought with a little fear creeping in his heart. He wore his leather jerkin and pants, and covered himself with his mantle then left his room.

The north was the cold winds howling in the dead of night and the Wall. It was past hour of the wolf. The moon was shining in the sky and the sky was cloudless speckled with stars. The stars were everywhere thousands and thousand of them. Jon was standing at the bridge between Greet Keep and the Armory. Jon saw a star falling from the sky. Jon was a son of Stark and Dayne. The sigil of House Dayne was white sword and a falling Star on purple field. Jon was looking at the falling Star with his purple eyes. _A fitting sight_. Jon thought.

Jon could not keep his thoughts about his dream out of his head. Why? Why would he see a Dragon in his dream? It felt so real to brush off the dream as a nightmare.

Then suddenly it hit him. Jon was never a scholar but it need not require to be genius to know which noble House, dragons are associated with. The Targaryens. Jon thought bitterly. The same House his father rebelled to overthrow. The same House his Uncle Arthur once served. Jon have heard that the former Queen Rhaella Targaryen along with her son Viserys Targaryen and her newborn daughter... _whatever her name was_ , fled to Essos. Is it a possible warning that the Targaryens may return seeking vengeance to House Stark? The Targaryens have no more dragons after the Dance with Dragon. Or do they? Jon was a skinchanger if Old Nan's stories had anything to say. Could he also be a greenseer or something like that?

Jon always hated the Targaryens. He knew his Uncle Brandon was supposed to marry Lady Catelyn Tully Stark not his father. He heard from people how his father fell in love with his mother at the Tourney at Harrenhal. Had the Mad King not burn his Grandfather and his Uncle not strangled himself to death, his father would have married his mother and he would have been a trueborn Stark. Or better had the former Prince Rhaegar never Kidnapped his aunt Lyanna Stark none of the war would have happened. Jon angrily thought. _Inbred Sisterfuckers._

He walked down the stairs and moved towards the crypt. The place was quite and he sometimes love to spend time there. He lit a torch and walked down the crypt. 

The winding stone steps were narrow. He could feel the chill coming up the stairs, a cold breathe breath from within the Land. He further descended into darkness of crypt. His shadow moved and lurched. Between the pillars, the dead sat on their stone thrones against the walls, back against the tomb that contained their mortal remains.

Their eyes were as cold as Winter itself. It seemed that they were looking at him when he walk passed their tombs. Jon gulped. It was not a good idea to visit crypt past the hour of wolf. Any other man may have been shit scared to death. _Don't be scared_. Jon reminded himself. He shivered in underground chill.

Jon remembered Old Nan saying Winterfell is the place where Winter truly fell. The said Winter is term used for the mystical _Others_. Maybe the ghosts of Others wander around here in the depths of Winterfell. Jon shudder at the thought.

He saw proud old Winter Kings. The stories of Brand 'The Builder', Theon ’The Hungry Wolf’ Stark, Cregan Stark, legendary Starks he grew up listening. The Kings of Winter. By ancient customs an iron longsword had been laid across the lap of each with direwolves at their sides who had been King In The North. They were the people who ruled these lands with royalty centuries before the Targaryens came. 

Their eyes still bore on Jon. It was like they were looking at him with disapproving eyes. He lived here in Winterfell, been over the crypt many a times but the never looked at him with kind eyes. He always felt like an outsider here. It was like he missed something. He remembered the history of his house from Maester Luwin but Old Nan truly helped him understanding them. He was never a brilliant scholar. _The only field where Robb might be able to beat me but he is as useless as me even there_. Jon was amused at the notion. Jon knew not why his father arranged him to study like his true born heir. He would not inherit anything unless his father would gift him some castle. He could have, if only Lady Catelyn wouldn't be gross. Jon mused. 

Jon never liked studying Maester Luwin lessons but he loved Old Nan's tales about the First Men, the Children of Forest, the War against Andals, the mystical Others and even Dragons. Old Nan's tales speak of skinchangers losing themselves in their beasts. Robb only loved hearing stories about the Last hero, wars or stupid southern knights. Then again Jon can not expect anything better from Robb. It was comical to think his own Uncle was one of the heros in the songs of gallant Knights yet Jon never cared them. What was so especial about competing in a tourney? Though it would prove useful in battles his Uncle said one time. He doubt people would care improving their skills other than wooing Ladies.

Old Nan told them skinchangers were men who controlled wolves, even direwolves and they had special name among wildings: Wargs. Jon could get inside the head of Shadow sometimes. That was how he knew he was a skinchanger. Jon doubt little about that. Old Nan did tell them Starks of old were powerful Wargs and they would often bond with their wolves. Jon can see the statues of wolves near the feet of Old Kings of Winter. Jon's chest beamed with pride at the notion. He may never have the name and face of Stark but he had the ability of Kings of Winter. He would have loved to boast if only people saw such magical ability without grimace and fear. _I would love to see people fear me though._

Jon recited about Old Nan's tales of Age of Dawn. About Giants and the Children of forest. The children of the forest were, in many ways, the opposites of the giants. As small as children but dark and beautiful, they lived in a manner we might call crude today, she told them, yet they were still less barbarous than the not so beautiful giants. They worked no metal, but they had great art in working obsidian to make tools and weapons for hunting. They wove no cloths but were skilled in making garments of leaves and barks. They learned to make bows of weirwood and to construct flying snares of grass.

Jon knew not how would old Nan know all that. He still listened her. It was way fun. Hearing about the grumpkins and snarks were even more so. The Others as she called them. _The monsters cannot pass so long as the wall stands and the men of the Night's watch stay true._ Old Nan's exact words. 

The Others mounted on ice spiders and dead horses, as Old Nan said. She told them in her time in the north, people would tell heroics of a last hero who sought out the intercession of the children of the forest, his companions abandoning him or dying one by one as they faced ravenous giants, cold servants, and the Others themselves. Alone the last hero finally reached the children, despite the efforts of the white walkers. Thanks to the children, the first men of the Nights Watch banded together and were able to fight and win the Battle for the Dawn: the last battle that broke the endless winter and sent the Others fleeing to the icy north. 

Now, eight thousand years later, the Wall made to defend the realms of men is still manned by the sworn brothers of the Night’s Watch, and neither the Others nor the children have been seen in many centuries. Jon at one time thought he would go on to join Nights Watch and be the sword of the darkness just like his Uncle, the sword of the morning. It was a stupid notion. He told his Uncle and his Uncle scolded him and before saying you would do no such thing right to his face. His uncle had a look of worry and anger. Jon was offended at that. How could he decide what I should do or not? Not that Jon wanted to join the Nights Watch anyway. He knew better than to argue with his Uncle. For all his anger, Uncle Arthur did came all the way from Dorne to Winterfell just for him. Jon smiled remembering that. 

He moved towards last three tombs. They were the last three recently added. The previous Lord of Winterfell Lord Rickard Stark, his grandfather. He wondered how things would have been if he was alive. Would he hate him for being a bastard? Jon cared not if he did. What he cared was why would Brandon Stark the Wild Wolf, as people called him, would run straight to a Kingslanding and demand the Crown Prince's head. _Was he that stupid?_ He ought not to think about such halfwit any longer than he should. He moved towards the last tomb. Aunt Lyanna. She was said to be very beautiful. Just like his mother. The Crown Prince should not have done what he did to her. Father killed the lord and his heir and, son raped the daughter. Yet Uncle Arthur, in few times he asked about the Prince, said he was noble and gallant. Jon don't know any better but maybe because of his Uncle perception about noble and gallant people made him hate southern Knights. 

Now the same Targaryens maybe coming for his family. Jon imagined with a little panic and hatred. No. He would not let it happen. Father would again overthrow those incestuous breeds. Or so Jon hoped. 

#### Arthur IV

Morning came and Arthur woke up. Another dawn with scarcely warm sun rising in the horizon. Today he might take Jon for a hunt. Arthur had been waiting for the time until Jon reaches adequate age to bear the burden of being a King. The problem is Jon never seem to grow out of his wildness. The recent incident between Jon and the Greyjoy boy outside the Wintertown was example of it. It was quite humorous though Arthur admitted. 

Evidently the Greyjoy boy was going for his visit to a brothel and his apparent whore happened to see Jon at Wintertown. Jon as far as one can tell did not knew the girl was a whore and was playing with him. Jon being Jon also started to flirt back. _The boy is only one and ten for Seven sake._ The Greyjoy had to interfere to get his whore but in that affair insulted Jon. More prominently Jon's mother, calling her whore. Even Arthur angered upon hearing that but his angered somehow cooled down after listening what Jon did. No sooner the boy insulted his mother, Jon proceeded to beat the boy right at the Wintertown. He did not even apologize to Lord Stark when confronted. Arthur felt real smug when he saw Lord Stark horrified face after seeing the Greyjoy boy. A bloody nose, bruised lips and broken wrist. 

The boy certainly has arrogance about him but Jon had even more so. Jon was getting better day by day in his swordsplay lessons but he need not to be better in swordsplay more than politics. Daemon is the King not a soldier. He needs an army. He needs to learn the game. Arthur reminded himself. Arthur himself knew naught about actual politics like Rhaegar did. Rhaegar was good in creating alliance even without marriage and pleasing nobel lords. He knew how to play the game of thrones. _Yet he could not survive._ Treacherous part of his head whispered. Arthur went to the kitchen and broke his fast. 

Being a Kingsguard Arthur always woke in time even in this cold frozen wasteland though sometimes Arthur was tempted to just forget his duty and sleep all day in the hard wooden patch they call bed. But he could not. _Damn this cold and they say its Summer._ Arthur shuddered to think what might happen in Winter. Arthur went to the Kitchen to break his fast. The servents serve him boiled eggs and salt fork with lemon water. When he first arrived in Winterfell the food tasted disgusting to Arthur. He was getting used to dine in Red keep. Although not a Royal or nobel lord, Kingsguard was still prestigious thing to be. Now the food tastes nothing new to him. 

Afterwards he went heading to the courtyard to warm himself and teach his King the art of swordsplay. _The only thing I am good at_. But to his surprise Jon was already there waiting for him with a blunt training sword in his hands.

"So you are eager to kiss the ground early. I can tell." Arthur mocked him. 

The boy just gave him a bored look and wave him off to join him. 

Arthur picked up his sword and swing his arms lightly. He started warming up. Arthur noticed entire time Jon was lost in his own thoughts. Arthur knew not what the boy was thinking but at such time he looked very much Rhaegar with melancholy flashing in his face. This was very much unlike the boy's true nature. He always had an smugness about him. Not today. 

Arthur cleared his throat to get the boy's attention. Jon glanced at him with raised eye brow. Arthur motioned him for the spar. Jon nodded his head and they started sparring. 

For the fifth time Arthur beat Jon in rather easy way. The boy was clearly distracted over something but what? 

”Jon I think we had enough of spar today." Arthur announced. 

Jon looked at him and nodded then positioned himself for sword drilling. 

"No no I meant not the sword drilling. I said we had enough of swordsplay today. Tell me what's bothering you?" Arthur asked. The boy looked slightly taken aback but immediately schooled his face. 

"Why do you feel like something is bothering me? I just could not get a sound sleep" Jon replied nonchalantly. Arthur did not buy that. 

"Would that it were but it clearly is not about sound sleep." Arthur pressed the matter. 

"It is what it is, if you don't believe than so be it. We got better things to do than to argue over me failing to hit you, Uncle"

Jon was very stubborn for his age. He was looking at him meeting gaze for gaze and lying into his face without any hesitation. It was very hard to argue with him when those purple eyes were entrancing your soul. 

Arthur sighed. " Alright then keep your secrets." 

No sooner Arthur said that Jon nodded his head and walked away without even greeting Robb. Robb also looked a little bit surprised at him but didn't make a fuss like Arthur did. 

It was late midday and Arthur had not seen Jon at all ever since morning. He thought maybe Jon had gone to ride with his horse but Shadow was at the stable. Arthur was worried about the boy. He did not act like this normally. Nothing ever seem to truly trouble the boy like this. Even the Greyjoy's taunts, who was living in Winterfell for nearly six moons now, did not bother the boy nor did Lady Stark cold hateful gazes. Ned Stark came to him to ask about Jon. Stark told him Jon didn't even bothered to attend Maester Luwin classes. 

Arthur first went to godswood to look for Jon. The place was hauntingly silent. Common trees like ash, chestnut, elm, hawthorn, ironwood, oak, sentinel, and soldier pine were there. At the center of the grove stands an ancient weirwood with a face carved into it, a heart tree standing over a pool of black water. Arthur would never understand how these northerners pray such thing but if being honest with himself Arthur had to admit he can feel their presence in godswood. 

Arthur could not find Jon in godswood. _Where is he?_ Arthur left the godswood and head towards the crypt. He took a lantern and move downwards the stairs. The crypt was even more scary than godswood. Arthur called for Jon but no answer came. He knew the boy sometimes like to come here. Arthur glimpsed at the statue of Lyanna. The cold was very unsettling down in crypts. His feets were numb with cold. _The statue didn't do her any justice. She was far more beautiful than this._ Arthur took a trip down memory lane for a while remembering the beautiful she-wolf who captured the heart of his silver prince. Shaking his head Arthur left the crypt. 

Arthur knows the boy is somewhere inside Winterfell. He asked the gatekeepers had they seen him. No one had seen him go outside Winterfell walls so that put Arthur at ease. The boy will come back eventually. Arthur reassured himself and proceeded to move towards library. For past sennight, Arthur had been studying about the lesser known Houses that answered the call for Targaryens in rebellion. He was figuring out how many of those would still raise banners against Usurper once Jon's identity is revealed. 

When he reached library tower it was not happenstance that Jon was there silently and intensely reading a book. Arthur blinked eye upon seeing the sight. Jon was never a bookish like Rhaegar was and here he sat reading a book so passionately that he failed to notice about Arthur's presence. 

Arthur quietly approached Jon and sneaked a glance at what he was reading. The boy was, reading about dragons. He saw the pictures of dragons and if Arthur guessed correct it was about the infamous dance with dragons. It was not much of a surprise people are fascinated towards the dragonlords. Arthur himself was amazed reading about their history. No matter what the Usurper tries to claim royalty, the legacy of Targaryens could never be matched by any Baratheons or Lannisters. Targaryens were the dragonlords and even after they lost dragons there was this otherworldly presence about them that drew people's eyes. Jon was very much of the same. Blood shows. 

What surprised Arthur was why would Jon act strangely and then skip the morning class only to be found in library reading about dragons? _What are you hiding, Daemon?_

Jon was sitting in the desk, his head bowed and he was reading silently. Arthur cleared his throat to get his attention. Jon immediately shot his head up and noticed Arthur at his left side. He hurriedly closed his book. _So that's what you are hiding eh?_

"Uncle, I knew not you were also interested in reading books or were you just looking for me? " His voice as sweet as that of Lord Varys. 

"Why, nephew, I love reading books especially about dragons but I never saw you reading one before. " _Two can play this game._

Jon had grace to show the look of hurt. "You sell me short, Uncle. I may not like Maester Luwin's history but I love hearing Old Nan's mystical tales and dragons are mystical tales. "

_Damnit the boy is toying with me._ "What really happened Jon,answer truthfully, I know you behave out of your touch today morning and you are spending all the afternoon reading about dragons missng your lessons and even launch and Lord Stark is even looking for you. " 

Before the boy could retort Arthur offered."Soon Maester Luwin is coming to Library he would see you here and then you have to answer your Lord father. Tell me the truth I may help you." 

The boy flashed him an annoyed look like he could care little about answering Lord Stark. "If you must know then I had terrible dream last night and could not sleep there after. " 

What does that have to do with reading about dragons? 

"What did you dream of? " 

"Myself" Why all this show then? 

"And a big red dragon. " His voice dropped to a whisper. 


	7. Arthur V

#### Arthur V

297 AC 

The morning dawned clear and cold, with a crispness that hinted at the end of summer. The birds were chirping in the early morning. The summer snows falling in sheets and the tree branches coated in ice. They were riding to see a man getting beheaded for deserting Nights Watch. Arthur wanted not to ride with them but to lock himself in his room and mourn for his father but Jon was among the party so Arthur followed his King even though the said King knew naught about his crown. 

Arthur had a fall out with his father after the rebellion but he still loves his father all the same. Arthur recalled the proud glint in his father's eyes when his father first saw him donned in his white cloak upon his father visit to Kingslanding or when he said how proud he was when after hearing he slayed the Smiling Knight. Arthur cherished those moments with his father. 

Now Arthur must go to Starfall to pay his visit and respect to his father. A raven came last night from Allyria about the unfortunate news. Arthur felt shame when the first thing that came to his mind was now he and his King could no longer correspond with the remaining Targaryens and his sister, instead of mourning for his father. But Arthur knew his father would be satisfied that he was talking his duty seriously. _A Kingsguard main duty was to his King after all._

Nonetheless now he had a hard decision to make. He would have to tell Jon. _Now or never_. Three years ago Arthur nearly blurred out the truth but thought otherwise. Jon had a dragon dream. Arthur doubt not. Rhaegar himself had various prophetic dreams notwithstanding the fact that Arthur would seldom understand. The Targaryens were in many ways still a mystery to him. 

Arthur however waited that day. Jon was still a child then not that he is a matured man now howbeit he come of age. The boy in last three years shot up like a weed. He is half an inch shy of six feet. Already towering over Robb. His once pale brown hair was now all blonde. His shoulder length hair shone like beaten gold. Arthur wondered if that would change into moonlight silver like Rhaegar's. His rich purple eyes were radiant more than ever. The baby fat face now all but gone replaced by sharper face with high cheekbones. His body was lithe and graceful just like Rhaegar but also muscled nevertheless. His sword skills enhanced to a great extent. His King truly looked a young Warrior in flesh so much that now people were taking more notice on him. It worried Arthur. Another reason he needs to tell Jon and be gone from this hellhole. The Others take this summer snow.

Arthur could not believe that he is praising a four and ten year boy, King or not. There has only been one other person before to get praise from Arthur at such young age. _Jaime Lannister_. Arthur remembered. Jon many a times remind Arthur of a young Jaime. The similarities was not only in the good looks, blonde hair and the always present smugness plastered in his face just like Jaime but Jon was also a prodigy with a sword in his hand like Jaime had been but that's where the similarities ended. Jaime for all his good looks and name always took his knighthood earnestly, even so the same Jaime turned out to be a Kingslayer, and was hardly interested in women but Jon, dare he say, hated knighthood and is very fond of women and whores.

Jon oft-times visit brothels in wintertown something that not only Arthur and Ned but Theon hated. Though the latter detested only because the whores happened to chose Jon over him, or so Arthur heard. The Targaryens' ethereal beauty was strong in the boy and the way Jon carries himself with exuberance despite being seen as a bastard, Arthur was not much surprised when girls were enthralled by the boy. 

They have reached the small holdfast in the hills. Jon assumed the man was a wilding, sworn to Mace Rayder, the King-beyond-the-wall. Arthur remembered his last time encounter with wildings at Bear Islands. Fierce and gruesome fighters they were. But the man was an old and thin here awaiting the King's justice. The man was dressed in all black and he lacked both ears. A sworn brother of the Night's Watch. Arthur reflected. He had no idea how could a man can survive in a place like the Wall. Arthur himself was a member of Kingsguard but he he had the privilege to travel around with the royal family, participate in tourneys, supper delicious foods albeit not any more. Yet he was not confined to freeze his balls all the same. 

Ned Stark was looking at the man solemnly. His brown hair stirring in the winds. His closely trimmed beard was shot with white, making him look older than his thirty-five years. He donned the face of Lord Stark of Wineterfell. Arthur mused. 

There were question asked and answers given in the chill of the morning but Arthur mind was somewhere else. Finally, Stark gave command and two of his guardsmen dragged the ragged man to the ironwood stump in the center of the square. Theon Greyjoy brought forth the sword _Ice_ , he remembered the sword was Valyrian Steel, spell-forged and dark as smoke. Nothing holds edge like Valyrian steel. 

Stark took of his glove and handed them to Jory Cassel and took hold of Ice in both hands in rather dramatic way. Arthur rolled his eyes. _He is just here to behead an old skinny deserter and acts like as if he is about to challenge the great Other to single combat._ Ned Stark then spoke in iron tone voice. 

"In the name of Robert of House Baratheon, the First of his name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Wineterfell and Warden of the North, I do sentence you to die." 

Arthur was disgusted at hearing Stark babble. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Jon mumbling something to Bran. Stark took off the man's head with single stroke. 

Arthur rode with Jon, Robb, Theon and Bran ahead of main party. As always Jon was galloping his horse ahead of everyone. Arthur beckoned his horse. 

"The deserter died bravely" Robb said. The Stark heir was big and broad. A little shorter than Jon. He had red-brown hair from both of his parents and clear blue Tully eyes. "He had courage, at the least." 

Jon shook his head. "No. It was not courage. That one was dead of fear. You could see it in his eyes, Stark" 

"The Others take his eyes. He died well. Race you to the bridge." Robb said. 

Jon grinned at him. "Done" Jon galloped his horse early with Robb following. Both of them were laughing and full of lives. Theon was muttering curses and Bran was just galloping his pony forward. Arthur thought it was better to ride with them in silence than to follow those two. 

The main party also joined them. Soon they saw Jon awaiting them on the crest of the hill. He waved and shouted at them, "Father, Uncle, Bran come quickly, see what Robb has found" 

They found Robb on the riverbank north of the bridge with Jon still mounted on Shadow beside him. Robb was on his knee and it looked like he was picking up something. Jon dismounted off his horse and soon went to knee just like Robb and was talking to him a excited voice. 

Theon Greyjoy and Jory Cassel were the first to reach the boys and suddenly Jory gasped and exclaimed "Gods" 

Arthur instantly got off his horse and move towards Jon. His sword already out. "Jon get away from it." 

Jon rolled his eyes at him. "She's dead uncle. She can't hurt you." _Hurt me?_

Jon immediately imitate his actions drawing his own sword to further mock him. "Uncle get away from it. The Others have resurrected it." Robb and Theon started snickering. 

"What in the old gods is it? " Ned Stark asked dismounting his horse. 

"A wolf" Robb answered. 

"A freak." Greyjoy said otherwise. "Look at the size of it." 

The wolf was undeniably huge. Twice the size of the largest hound in Winterfell's keneel, half buried in snow a huge grey wolf it was. Blood was stinking in the air. 

"It is no freak" Jon said "That's direwolf. It grows bigger than any other wolf." 

"There's not been a direwolf sighted south of the Wall in two hundred years." Theon declared. 

"I never took you for a intellectual squid." Jon mocked the Greyjoy with a hint of smirk in his face. "Besides I can see new ones here." Jon said pointing out the pups. Theon pursed his lips and glared at Jon. 

Robb and Jon started picking up the new pups. Jon gave a new pup to Bran. "There are five." 

"It is a sign of gods" Jory said. Arthur frowned. 

"This is only a dead animal." He said. 

"The wolf looks like wounded by something." Ned told them.

"A stag it seems." muttered Hullen, the master of horse. 

"I am surprised she lived long enough to whelp." Ned said. 

"It can be an omen" Jory said. 

Ned sighed. "See it to as quick death." Arthur agreed. 

Theon drew his sword. "Give the beast here Bran" 

"No it's mine" The Stark spare cried. 

"Put away your sword, Greyjoy." Robb said in a commanding voice. " We will keep these pups." 

Theon didn't agree but. "I take orders but from Lord Stark, not from you Robb. Give it to me now." 

"Lord Stark" Jon said out of nowhere. "There are five pups three male and two female" Jon pointed out. 

"What of it, Jon?" Jon looking at Ned Stark as if he were the biggest idiot. 

"You have five true born children" Arthur didn't missed the word 'trueborn' emphasized. "Three sons and two daughters and the direwolf is the sigil of your house. You children were meant to have them." Jon advised. 

Bran was looking at Jon as if he was a knight out of the stories that he reads. Ned Stark looked to be thinking. Arthur smiled at Jon. He omitted himself and pointed out the wolfs were meant to trueborns after seeing the sadness in his little brother eyes. At that moment he saw Rhaegar in Daemon. 

Eddard Stark was giving Jon a sad look" You want no pup for yourself, Jon?" 

"Would that I could but I can't, so I shan't." Jon said nonchalantly. "The direwolf graces the banners of House Stark, I am no Stark, Father." _No, you are but a Targaryen._

Ned regarded Jon before saying to his children "If you want these pups, you will feed them yourselves, you shall train them yourselves. And when they die you would bury them yourselves. Is that understood? " 

Both of his sons nodded eagerly. "Yes father" 

"It's time we return back to Winterfell" Ned announced. 

Halfway across the bridge Jon pulled suddenly. 

"What is it, Jon?" Arthur asked. 

"Shh, can't you hear it Uncle?“ 

All Arthur could hear was wind in the trees, rustling of leaves, horses neighing but Jon was listening to something else. 

" There" Jon pointed his finger, his voice echoed in the tranquil forest. He dismounted from his horse and moved towards a bush. A moment later he was returning with a smile in his face and a pup in his arms whose fur was all _white_ and eyes blood _red_. The eyes were very disturbing. Whilst the other pups were still blind this one was very much observant. 

"An albino" Theon said, amused. " A runt of the litter" 

"I can see it in your eyes, you are now dreaming of getting a she-Kraken, aren't you?“ Jon asked ignoring his jab. 

"No I am not, Snow" Theon grumbled. 

"Why a female kraken though?" Robb asked curiously. 

"Theon was hoping if she can swallow" Jon blurted shrugging his shoulders. Robb and Arthur both snorted at that. They began galloping their horses. 

Arthur was moving a little behind the main party. _I need to tell him soon_. Arthur shortly have to leave for Starfall that much he knew. The journey from Winterfell to Starfall is way too long and to come back from Starfall would take no less than six moons. 

It could prove to be too menacing to be gone from Winterfell and leave Jon like that. Arthur pondered. The boy is still young and wild, and oblivious to his duty. Just last year the reckless assault to wildings from the frozen shore during their stay on Bear Islands was confirming enough for Arthur. There is no way Arthur was leaving his King after telling the truth. No, Jon have to depart with me. Lord Dayne is his grandfather essentially to the people albeit Jon may not like him. Arthur mused. 

Arthur considered telling to Ned as well but thought otherwise. Would that he could then Ned would have never tell Jon just so he can keep him safe as he believes he is doing. Arthur already knew what Ned would have said in his frozen voice. 'Now is not the right time' the same way he said three years ago after Arthur told him about Jon's dragon dreams. _Sooner rather than later_. Arthur reminded himself.

They reached inside the gates of Winterfell. Jon took his horse to the stable and was about to get off elsewhere with his newly found pup but Arthur halted him. 

"Jon wait I would like speak something to you" Arthur said in a grim voice. 

Jon turned around to look at him and nodded "Go on, Uncle" 

"I am departing for Starfall soon." 

Jon stopped caressing his wolf pup and looked at him with raised eye brows. 

"My father lives no longer. He died of natural cause." Arthur told him. 

Jon face was impassive. Eversince Jon had been told that Lord Dayne not wanted to meet him, the boy did not even bother to ask about Starfall. Jon used to ask alot about Starfall all the time, Arthur decided it was best to shut his never ending questions that way. 

" I am sorry to hear this" His face gave nothing away. No any sadness. 

"I want you to come with me, Jon" Arthur said. For a moment he saw glint in his purple eyes. He immediately schooled his face. _Too much prideful, are you?_

"The man was nothing to me, Uncle. Pray tell me why should I visit him? " His voice as cold as Ned Stark's. 

"Sure the man was nothing to you but you would get chance to see the lands past the Neck, you shall see Dorne and it's summer heat.. " 

"I fear father would not allow me to go that far" Jon interrupted him. 

"I need to tell you something Jon" Arthur started in a deadpan voice. Jon looked intrigued. "Tis' about your mother" That certainly got his full attention. 

Jon leaned onto the fence of stable, arms crossed, his pup now in the ground and he looked at him studying his face. 

"You seldom appear this much troubled, Uncle. What is it? " 

"Not here Jon, meet me in the crypt past noon" Arthur told him. The boy regarded him for a moment before shrugging off and walked away picking his wolf pup. 

Alright now I need the high septon papers and the dragon egg to present to the boy. _Seven help me._

Arthur was standing in front of tomb of Lyanna Stark _Targaryen_. She was down at the end with her father and brother. She was the only woman in the crypt. Only the previous Kings or Lords of Winterfell tombs were settled in here. Arthur was holding an oil lantern in his hand. The shadow flickering in the stones. At the foot of the vault was the wooden chest that he had brought from Dorne four and ten years ago. Arthur was waiting for Daemon. 

Arthur heard the sound of footsteps resonate against the stones. He turned around and saw Daemon descending the narrow stone steps with torch in his hands. In the dim light, his purple eyes appear so dark that they looked almost like Rhaegar's indigo. 

"Uncle" Daemon greeted him with a nod. 

_Not anymore from today._

Arthur nodded back and beckoned him to stand aside him. 

"You said you wanted to talk about mother" Daemon said, his voice soft. 

"Aye, but when I tell you I want you to not interrupt me in middle" Arthur said. He knew the boy had habit of interrupting others. Daemon nodded his head. 

Arthur began narrating from tourney of Harrenhal to the isle of faces and then the dubbed 'Tower of Joy'. He reasoned Daemon that Rhaegar had noble intensions and he didn't kidnap Lyanna as the world believes he did. He talked about the incident at Tower of Joy. He told Daemon about his remaining Targaryen family across the narrow sea. 

During the entire time Arthur narrated, Daemon's face was blank and, even bored after he began talking about remaining Targaryens. He didn't gasp or was wide-eyed like Arthur expected. He looked as if he could care naught. Arthur knew he already put two and two together when Arthur started telling about Rhaegar and Lyanna came across the godswood of Harrenhal yet he ever remained silent all the same. 

There was a long silence between them. Arthur was looking at Jon and he was gazing back at him. " I supposed you hide all this from me to keep me safe" Jon said comprehension flashing in his face. 

Arthur sighed in relief and nodded. 

"So Rhaegar Targaryen is my sire and I am no bastard but a true born and one of royal lineage“ Arthur saw mirth in his eyes. 

" Aye" 

"Pray tell me Ser. He had time to annul his previous marriage but not to bring a Maester to attend my mother pregnancy?" 

Arthur hesitated before speaking " Your grace.." 

"Stop that" Daemon growled.

"Daemon you need to understand as strange as it seems the safest place for both Rhaegar and Lyanna was in the Red Mountains of Dorne. He could not afford to ask for a Maester to any noble house of Dorne and he trusted but little to any other Maesters of citadel except the previous Maester of Dragonstone." Arthur told him. 

"Why? " 

Arthur draw in a deep breath and said " Rhaegar always suspected that Maesters of citadel had been corresponding with Faith and the Hightowers to exterminate all Targaryens way before Robert's rebellion" 

"What!... What makes him say that? " Daemon exclaimed. 

Arthur was about to tell him something that only Arthur and Rhaegar reckoned. 

"Tis' not a happenstance that the Faith and Maesters so easily accepted Robert's regime and dare I say even promoted. Rhaegar was dubious that the Old Town trio Hightowers, Faith and Maesters schemed against the Targaryens and their dragons. It had always been the three. Faith Militant uprising, Dance of Dragons, Baelor's holy propagandising and then there was Summerhall." 

"What happened in Summerhall ?" Daemon asked his voice above a whisper. 

Arthur waited a few moments before breaking the silence. "Targaryens have always danced close to madness, Daemon." Daemon looked offended as if Arthur was regarding him. "Even more so after the dance with dragons. Rhaegar told me dragons were magic and the extinct of magic made some of his ancestors insane" Daemon snorted at that. Arthur continued "I as well scarcely believed that. Their incestuous relationship was looked down by others even in Dorne. The reign of Aerys was worse. More noble Lords of the realm were marrying with each other houses than ever before. Your grandfather.. " Arthur pointed out the tomb of Rickard Stark "was the most prominent" 

"Summerhall killed off King Aegon and Prince Duncan almost killing your grandmother Rhaella and her son Rhaegar, who was tragically born there. The Targaryens were weakness at that time. Rhaegar suspected twas' a scheme to finish off all Targaryens at the same place. It was not known the fire in Summerhall was by accident or not. Later years, Rhaegar was sure that Grand Maester of Red Keep, Pycelle was behind the failed child births of Queen Rhaella and possibly his then wife Princess Elia Martell" Arthur finished. 

Silence greeted him. Shadows were flickering in the dark. Arthur gestured Daemon to the wooden chests. "This chest contain the marriage documents of Prince Rhaegar and Princess Lyanna, also the annulment and a dragon egg. I believe you should see it alone." 

Arthur was about to leave to provide some time for the boy to digest everything he learned today. But Daemon spoke "Ser" Arthur realized he didn't liked being called Ser by Daemon. He is not calling me Uncle now. "you say Rhaegar suspected this, doubted that, then why didn't he do anything?" _Rhaegar had his flaws._

"He could not get proper evidence and he was more busy keeping an eye on Aerys" 

"Usurping you mean? and he even failed to do that. It seems to me he was naught but a bard Prince" 

Anger stirred in Arthur yet he kept his mouth shut. He may have rebuked Daemon previously, now Daemon is but his King not his nephew anymore. 

"Have you told Lord Stark that you were about to spill the beans? " Daemon asked. Arthur panicked for a moment. 

"No" Arthur shook his head. 

"Were he ever planning to tell me?" 

"I know not" Arthur admitted. Just so he held back himself from saying NO. 

Daemon nodded his head. 

"I shall go to Starfall with you, Ser. Might I ask when? “ Daemon asked. 

"The sooner the better. I would say a day after morrow would fare better." Arthur replied. 

Daemon agreed by nodding his head. He waved him off then. 

Arthur left the crypt and head towards godswood. _I hope I did the right thing._

Jon Snow (Daemon Targaryen) 

Ser Arthur Dayne 

Rhaella Targaryen 

Viserys 

Ashara Dayne 


	8. Jon III - Ashara II

****

####  **Jon III**

The world was twirling around him, the crypt execrating silent. What in the name of old and new gods did Uncle Arthur actually said? _I am not a bastard?_ But a true born son of Prince Rhaegar and my aunt Lyanna. And, Rhaegar Targaryen didn't kidnap Lyanna Stark? _Seven hells, I am from the lineage of the incestuous pigs._

_Anger, frustration, sadness, bitterness_ , every strain of emotion, were harbored inside his head at the moment. Jon then gazed towards the stonework of his _mother_. For an instant, Jon felt like she was peering back at him. All his life he imagined how unfortunate was Lyanna Stark to be abducted by a _Mad Prince_ now he sensed the irony. It was very comical to even think. He laughed right there. He laughed harder, a perilous mirth in his eyes. His father and mother loved one another and ran off like cravens, forsaking their duties thrusting a whole Kingdom to a warfare and he, Jon Snow, the fruit of that pricey war.

No, not Jon Snow. _Daemon Targaryen_ Daemon? Who names his son after a bastard blackfyre? _Lady Catelyn in her whole life saw me as Daemon Blackfyre reborn. She will be rejoiced upon hearing my name._ Jon mused.

By all rights he is a fucking Crown Prince...no, **King** actually and he has been passed on as a bastard. But Jon comprehended why. His father… no, his Uncle, _Gods_ , concealed him so that King Robert Baratheon would not slaughter him like the infant Prince and his half-sister Rhaenys.

Jon noticed the chest that Ser Arthur talked about. Jon then stopped low, flocking a torch to inspect the wooden chest. The padlock latch was unlocked. Jon opened the chest and inside he saw manifold paper works. They were the letters, annulment papers and the marriage certificate by high septon as Ser Arthur had said before. Jon ignored them but what caught his eyes was the big glittery red stone. Jon at once shelved the papers and proceeded to pick the stone. It was an egg. Jon examined. The egg was warm. Very much so. He then perceived it was a _Dragon Egg_

Jon's thoughts went to the dream three years ago where he saw the big red dragon. _Could it be?_ He even feared to imagine. After that dream he never saw another. By this time, he snubbed the dream as naught but a bad dream. Now rubbing the dragon egg with his palm he experienced a warm closeness.

Jon in an instant placed the egg as well as all the papers back in the chest. He didn't even bother to see the marriage cloak. He locked the padlock latch and left the chest there. _No one comes to the crypt beside Father, Arya or me._ He stood up and moved on. He started ascending the narrow stonesteps, with the flaming torch in his hands.

 _I am fucking pissed but who to blame?_ His dolt of a father was dead for five and ten years, his mother died birthing him, _I am responsible for her death,_ the man who he considered as his Uncle was his sworn protector who by the orders of his father was now left naught but a useless knight, his father was but his Uncle. _Damnation._ His father and mother were not even inbreds nonetheless it seemed as they were. The woman who he considered his mother is now miraculously alive. She happened to be with his other family. _Fuck._ Jon knew not how they would view him. Will they look at him as the reason for the ruination of their House or would they receive him as a family? He realized he care not, so long as they accept him as the rightful heir. _The throne is mine_.

The familiar frosty gazes of the Old Kings of Winter in the crypt were now joyous or so it seems to Jon. _They are laughing at me_. Jon's fingers curled into a fist. _You don't belong here_. They used to whisper to him. _Oh yes, I don't belong here._ Jon thought darkly. _My place is supposed to be at Red Keep sitting on the Iron Throne._

Anger was building inside him. _I need to hit someone._ Theon? Robb? Jon reached outside of the crypts. First Keep came into view. The cold winds whirled in the air. It was still past noon. The sun was yet to dusk. There was no sword training in the courtyard now. Jon was not going to swing his sword against a dummy. _Maybe I should pay a visit to Ros. A new red head arrived the day before. What was her name? Nevermind._ Jon was about to leave for the brothel but he realized he left Ghost at the kennels.

Jon turned right and went towards kennels. Ghost was outside the kennels, the hounds were inside barking at Ghost. Jon felt ashamed that he left Ghost there. Ghost was rolling in the snow. His furs were as white as the summer snow. His eyes blood red. Ghost was a little bigger in size than other pups. Jon saw red eyes staring back at him. Jon knelt and called "Ghost come here" The dogs were still barking. Ghost obeyed his command. Ghost slugged closer and cuddled at Jon's face.

"What did you name him? " Jon heard a familiar voice. It was his little sister cousin, _Arya._

Jon turned around and saw Arya with a pup of grey-fur in her arms. "What are you doing here?"

"Hiding from Septa Mordane, does that satisfy you?" Arya replied flatly.

"Ghost, I named him Ghost what's yours?"

"Nymeria,after the warrior Princess" Arya announced with enthusiasm laced in her voice.

Jon grinned at her. At least she didn't name it Visenya. Arya had always been like him. _Wolfsblood,_ Lord Stark calls it. She was also the only Stark with an actual Stark look. The brown hair, grey eyes and long face. Arya looked pretty to him, not a classic beauty like Sansa is, nevertheless pretty. Jon knew she would grow up to be a beautiful woman. _Many say she looks like my mother._ Mother, just a day ago he used to picture his mother with dark hair and purple eyes, face like him now he is gawking at Arya to find his mother.

"Why, Ghost?" Arya gave him a curious look.

"He seldom makes sound. And he is also white" Jon answered her.

"But you have just met him today morning? How can you be sure he would not make noises?" Arya asked again.

Jon knew not why Arya always have to wonder such dumb things. If he named it Ghost then it is Ghost. _I would never ask her why Nymeria._ "I just know, little sister"

"Robb named his pup Grey Wind," Arya told him.

"Did you ask him why as well?"

"No, you silly. Grey wind is already a stupid name why should I ask why he named as such? " _Makes sense._

"I see that" 

"Sansa named her Lady" Arya informed him. 

Jon made a face hearing that. Arya guffawed looking at him. "I had the same face, believe me" Arya said now chuckling.

"Who names a wolf pup, Lady?“ Jon asked incredulously.

"Apparently, Sansa does," Arya said, shrugging her shoulders.

"Your pup is a special one" Arya spoke again. _Special Indeed_.

Jon nodded his head."All the pups are specials. According to Maester Theon, a direwolf had not been sighted on this side of Wall for over 200 years. Never knew Greyjoy was educated about our history more than ourselves." Arya chuckled.

She then put down her wolf and pulled him for a brief hug. Jon hugged back.

"Thank you brother, for this direwolf. Bran told me how you persuaded father excluding yourself, for us"

He felt warmness stirred in his heart. He may never have a Stark name but Arya, Robb and Bran would always be as close as siblings to him. Ghost regarded Arya silently. Jon ruffled Arya's hair. He loved doing that. Suddenly an ideal hit him. Arya always used to beg him to teach sword play. In the evening she always comes to the courtyard to see him train. Jon decided he would go ask Milken to craft a sword for her and then he would meet Lord Stark. With that Arya walked away to Great Keep. Jon supposed. He also went towards the smithy to meet Mikken. 

#### Ashara II

Volantis

Ashara was very saddened to hear about the passing of her father. Just hours ago a messenger came from Starfall bearing the news of her Lord father's demise. Last she had seen her father it was fourteen years ago, the same as her brother. Now her nephew Edric is the new Lord of Starfall.

The misfortune was Ashara could not even pay a visit to her father. Ashara hoped Arthur would visit him leastways. _Forgive me Allyria._ Father would never want her to return Starfall periling everything like that. Ashara didn't know what Arthur was doing, only now it was getting difficult to live in exile. _Hurry up Brother._ The dowager Queen Rhaella had already persuaded the Tigers to fight for their cause. She had convinced Malaquo Maegyr for their swords when they were to depart for Westeros. Now they are about to depart for Pentos soon.

Prince Viserys, the self-proclaimed King, believes there is a Magister in Pentos ready to support his claim. _He's too gullible._ The Prince is quick to anger and way too proud of his name. He will be a terrible King anyways. Ashara dearly hoped that Arthur had raised his King well. Viserys at times had given Ashara the lustful looks that she was used to now from most people. She might have considered taking him to bed only thing that restraint her from doing so was that she had seen the boy being raised early in Red Keep. She felt sinful, not that she desired the boy. _I seldom desired Rhaegar. Viserys is not even half of what Rhaegar was. Rhaella also would be disappointed with me, had I bedded him._ Ashara had already paid her price for taking men to her bed. _Brandon Stark_. The name so foreign to her now. She still remembers her daughter who could not survive. Gods have given her another chance to raise a girl in Daenerys.

Daenerys was such a sweet little girl. She has not taken a thing from Aerys as far as Ashara can tell. She was all Rhaella. A bookish like her eldest brother and strong willed girl of thirteen namedays. Ashara still has not regretted the day she joined the royal family.

Ashara glanced across the city from her balcony. The sun was so bright that she was sweating even inside the Black Walls. She looked at the enormity of pillars, steps, bridges and towers flowing into one another as if they had all been chiseled from one colossal rock, the Temple of the Lord of Light loomed like Aegon's Hill. A hundred hues of red, yellow, gold, orange met and melted in the temple walls, dissolving one into another like clouds at sunset. It's slender towers twisted ever upward, frozen flames dancing as they reached the sky. _Fire turned into stone_. Ashara observed.

Ashara could see dozens of dwarves elephants near the Long Bridge attended by half-naked slaves whose work was to shovel up the steaming piles left by the elephants. _Dung Slaves._ Ashara pitied them.

Ashara heard footsteps behind clicking to the stones. She turned around and saw it was Daenerys. Ashara smiled warmly at her. Daenerys truly was a vision of beauty. Daenerys wore a gown of velvet satin trimmed in vair, with dagged sleeves that almost touched the floor, lined into a soft purple felt. Her moonlight silvery hair fell freely and the dress brought color to her violet eyes.

Daenerys smiled back at her. "I am sorry to hear your loss, Ash. I can't even imagine what it feels to loose a loving father." _Grim yet loving father_.

Ashara motioned Dany to sit in her bed. "Do not fret yourself, Dany. My father lived long enough to see his sons and daughters grew up and even a grandson at that." Ashara replied remorseful.

Daenerys didn't speak after that. "How are you enjoying the elections, Dany?" Ashara offered.

Today was the last day of elections in Volantis.They last for ten days. Ten days of madness. Torchlight marchess, speeches, mummers and minstrels and dancers, Braavosi fighting death duels for the honor of their candidates, elephants with the name of would be triarchs painted on their sides. Hundreds of pretty slave girls out into lie with voters so they could win votes. Ashara was disgusted seeing that.

"Not very much so if I am being truthful about it. Molaquo Maegyr is about to be re-elected again." Dany said in a bored tone.

The man must be sixtey namedays old. He is still winning elections every year as a Triarch of Tiger party.

"Yes so it seems. Also, Nyestros Vhassar seems to be re-elected again" Ashara confirmed.

Silence befall between them. Both lost in their own thoughts. Dany was nervously playing with her hair. _She wants to ask me questions_.

"What is it, Dany?" Ashara questioned her.

She had the grace to act bewildered. "Huh I am sorry?"

Ashara sighed. " I have raised you myself I known when you are happy or sad or nervous. So what is it you want to talk about?"

Dany looked hesitated. "Go on I won't tell anyone, not even your mother" Ashara grinned at her.

"It's about Nyestros" Dany blurred out.

Ashara's smile cuddled like a sour milk. Nyestros Maegyr, the only son of Marqorro Maegyr. A very handsome boy with fair skin, hair a platinum color and deep violet eyes like his father. The boy had tried to seduce her multiple times. _A green boy._ If there was anyone worse than Viserys than it was him.

"What about him?" Ashara had a bad feeling something happened? _Did she…_

"We kissed previously and he snuck into my room last night." Dread blazed in Ashara. Marqorro is a very ambitious man. He would not stop unless his family is tied with Targaryen and the Iron Throne. Viserys have already bedded his daughter Visenya.

"Dany, did you slept with him?" Ashara asked cynically.

Dany blushed. "What, no, Ash. How could you think that?"

Ashara release the breath she didn't know she was even holding. "What happened exactly? "

" _Nye_ and I had kissed each other many a times before but last night he was a little drunk and sneaked inside my room." Dany flushed upon saying that.

"Then?" Ashara asked. Impatient.

"He had touched me" Ashara very well knew what 'touch' meant. _My, my, Princess have grown up now._

"He wanted to go further but I refused" Dany said now blushing hard. _Thank the seven_.

"I think I love him Ashara but I know muna would not be happy with this" _Of course she won't, you stupid girl._

Ashara grabbed Dany hand then squeezed it and looked right into her eyes before saying in a deadpan voice "Neither would you. It is not love, Dany. Believe me when I say you. It is an infatuation with a young handsome boy. Nothing else."

"How would you know what it is?" Dany asked now a little raised voice. _Offended, are you?_

"I knew what it is Dany, for I had already paid the price for it." Ashara said calmly.

Dany looked unimpressed. So Ashara continued "The tourney at Harrenhal where your brother Rhaegar met Lyanna I also met Brandon Stark, eldest brother of Lyanna. He was a charming handsome guy that every maiden in seven kingdoms fancy of. I was enchanted by him. Just like now you are by your Nye."

Ashara paused and glanced at Dany to see her reaction she was peering at her curiously."I made love with him at the last damn day of Tourney and that was my biggest mistake prior to now. I failed to birth his daughter. By then he was already dead, even if he were to be alive then he would have married another as he was betrothed to another." A small tear appered on her eye.

"The Maester at Starfall told me I would not be able to quicken my womb anymore" Ashara finished.

Ashara was quickly pulled in a tight hug by her. " I am sorry, Ash."

"How man times are you going to say sorry, Dany?" Ashara asked with a chuckle.

"I know I am stupid. I should not have blindly trusted Nye." Dany stated.

Ashara shushed her putting her index finger in her lips. "It had happened with everyone else before you my sweet, but never forget you are the blood of Dragon. The true descendants of Valyrans. Not like them. They lust for you, your name and the power you could have, bear that in mind Dany" Ashara warned. Dany nodded fiercely.

"I know that. Marqorro was trying to influence Muna but he failed to do so." Dany uttered.

"Yes" Ashara agreed. "So he planned to do the exact to you and your brother"

"Viserys is already now betrothed to Visenya. Marqorro is already filling his ears. He will prove to be a big hurdle for Daemon as well." Ashara whispered.

Daenerys gasped. "I didn't thought that." _No you clearly didn't._

"Now you do. Nyestros is exactly doing his father's bidding" Ashara manipulated her. _The boy may love her. But it is not my concern. Dany deserves to live like a Queen. Not with some Volanteese as his wife._

"Ash I.. I.. don't know what to say.. " Dany mumbled. Ashara embraced her immediately. She stroked her moonlight hair.

"You don't have to say anything, little dragon. Soon we shall depart for Pentos. A new beginning there. Forget everything." Ashara advised.

Daenerys reluctantly nodded. They spent a time in silence there. _Rhaella would had been harsh on her, had she knew about this_.

Daenerys stood from her bed. "I should probably visit mother "

Ashara nodded "Don't tell her what you told me Dany. You know your mother is already troubled with Viserys' antics."

Daenerys silently nodded before calling her "Ashara" She glanced up at her with raised eye brow "Should I say him my farewell?“

"No" Ashara said in a cold voice. "best not meet him at all." Daenerys nodded with sad face before sprinting out of the room. _Poor girl. She needs to know the world is not like her books_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to merge this chapter with previous one but Daenerys & Ashara conversation was not yet written :)


	9. Ned Stark IV - Jon IV

#### Ned Stark IV

Ned was inside his solar sitting in the wooden chair. The brazier warming up the room. There was a letter at his desk placed by Maester Luwin. The raven came earlier from Last Hearth, the ancestral seat of House Umber. The letter imparted about the nearby settlements of Last Hearth was once again getting ravaged by the Wildings. Greatjon Umber, the Lord of Last Hearth, was demanding actions to be taken against the Wildings for the repercussions. The only way the Wildings came this far North must either be from Frostfangs near the Shadow Tower or from Haunted forest crossing Eastwatch-by-the-sea. Ned pondered. Last time it was at Bear Islands. Jon had perked quite a shower of praise there. The She-bear herself sent a raven to Ned explaining the situation and praising Jon and Arthur's bravado. 

Ned was unsure what to make of that. Sure he was proud of Jon's martial prowess but if you behold it the other way, day after day the boy was getting more and more reckless even so that Ned could see the concern in Arthur's eyes. The boy acts like no more brain than stone, nevertheless there was this little gleam in those ethereal purple eyes that screams danger. 

At first Ned thought Jon's impulsive nature was the result of Wolfsblood, as his Lord father used to say, he seems to inherit from Lya. Lyanna and Brandon were always quick to anger but also full of laughter and energy. Lyanna had the touch of it and Brandon more than touch. _That sent them to their early grave_. A bawbling part of his head did whisper. Jon also acted like Brandon. While Brandon was the heir to Winterfell he had his responsibility but not Jon. The boy did whatever he desired. While Brandon was a charming man who used his robust body and handsome face to impress ladies. Jon just seems to be suit ladies as naught but a piece of cake or so he heard servants and guards whispering. 

Ned only saw Rhaegar Targaryen at Harrenhal briefly, he could not even recollect his face but Ned knew it to be like Jon's. Targaryens were known for their near otherworldly features other than dragons and their _madness._ The boy was of the same family. He was attracting eyes from every corner here in Winterfell. His hair now all but glows golden like Lannisters' gold as if those Valyrian eyes and that exotic and peculiar face were not enough trouble to subterfuge. His visits to brothels were also giving him enough distress. Cat would ramble for hours about this. 

Brandon also used to do the same antics but he was all but mostly drunk. Jon for all his mistakes don't drink much. That may have been a sigh of relief but it was not. The boy's quarrelsome nature was very concerning. He always is inclined to brawl with every other person in wintertown every so often. Just recent brawl with Theon outside Winterfell walls for an instance. Ned knew not what Theon had said to Jon about his mother at that time but when he saw Theon face bloodied with his wrists broken and the wicked smile pulled at Jon's face. Ned quivered. _Is there madness in him?_ Ned shuddered at the humour inside his head. No. Tis' naught but a trick played by his mind. Ned reassured himself.

Catelyn was all but livid with Jon. Her fear that Jon would usurp Robb's inheritance was not quelled. _If only she knew._ Say, the lady wanted Jon out of Winterfell but Ned would not allow that to happen. _Promise me, Ned_. He promised his sister to keep her son safe and promise he shall keep. Many a times it recurred in his mind to give Jon a Keep, maybe Sea Dragon Point or Moat Cailin but Catelyn had heatedly argued against it. It would seem unfair to deprive your own sons like that. Catelyn reminded him. Ned reluctantly had to agree the lady on that.

As if to be true the lady could hear whatever he was thinking, Catelyn came inside his solar without knocking. He lifted his head to glance at her. She had a worrisome look plastered on her face. Her brows were furrowed forming wrinkles in her forehead. 

"Catelyn" He greeted her. "What is troubling you?" 

"The wolf pups, Ned. How could you bring them here and allow our children to raise those beasts however they wish“ Catelyn complained. 

Ned sighed. "They are sigils of our house Cat. Nothing harm would befall on them as you are suspecting "

"But.. " Cat tried to retort but Ned beat her to it. 

"Bran and Robb both wanted the pups. I believe the girls are also exuberant about it." 

"They are" Catelyn did agree. 

"Jon had the right of it. They were meant for our children" As soon as Ned said those words he regretted. 

"Of course, it was the bastard. I could think of no better person." Catelyn snarled at him.

"You shall not speak about him like that in my presence, my lady wife. Do you understand?" Ned said in a cold tone. His voice is distant and formal, reminding her who she is speaking to.

Catelyn bite her tongue and nodded "Sure, my Lord"

Ned tried to resolve the tensions in the room. "Where are the children?“

He would always ask her to cease the strain. "In the kitchen, arguing about the name for the wolf pups" Catelyn replied in a soft voice. Ned smiled hearing that.

"Arya is already in love, and Sansa is charmed and gracious, but Reckon is not quite sure" Catelyn informed him.

Ned frowned. "Is he afraid?" He asked. 

"A bit," The Lady admitted. "He's only three after all"

"He must learn to face his fears. He will not be three forever" Ned said, frowning. "And winter is coming" 

No sooner had he said those words , he heard a knock on his door. "Come in," Ned answered to the knock. 

It was Jon. He had a wolfish smile smearing over his face and his eyes were unnaturally gleaming like he knew he would enjoy whatever is going to befall afterwards. Ned knew not why but he was a bit unsettled at the sight. Catelyn glared at him with unconcealed hatred. 

"My Lord and my lady Stark"Jon dropped a curtsy at them. Too low, like insulting. Catelyn stiffened beside him. 

"Jon, how may I help you?“ Ned asked with a stern voice. 

"My Lord, I would like to speak with you on some matters," Jon replied in a sweet voice. Sweeter voice than even Sansa. 

"Go on" Ned nodded at Jon to continue. 

"Alone, my Lord" Jon said grinning. _Why is he damn smiling so much?_ Ned could sense Catelyn was irked at Jon. 

"Some things are best to talk alone. Wouldn't you agree My Lord? Jon asked, glancing at Catelyn. 

Catelyn was shooting daggers at Jon. " Catelyn would you mind?" Ned motioned her to leave. 

Catelyn stayed still for a moment before nodding and then the Lady left. The entire time Jon was whistling softly pretending to look around. Ned was getting a little annoyed.

Ned beckoned him to take a seat "What are your important matters, Jon? “

"As you have perhaps already heard, my beloved grandfather Lord Dayne has just recently passed away, my Lord" _What?_ Ned knew naught about that.

"What? " Ned asked, surprise must be eminent in his face.

"You have not heard, my Lord? The ravens came to Uncle Arthur last night" Jon told him. "I should be surprised ,you are not well informed about ravens that arrive in your own house" His lips now partied upwards.

Ned was now glaring at him. Before he could say aught Jon spoke again. "Poor soul, my dear grandfather. May the Stranger take him to the eternal heavens." He pulled his head back now pretending to look at the sky even though he was inside his solar.

Ned was perplexed and irate. _Was he a follower of Seven now?_

"I am sorry to hear of your loss," Ned said. He truly meant. The man may bear no relation to Jon or him but he did help all those years ago. Ned's mind went back to that day. Starfall and Lady Ashara....

"You seem more fell than even Uncle Arthur" Jon brought him back to the befalling exchange. Jon was intensely studying his face.

"I.. I... Aye.. What about Arthur?" Ned asked aghast.

"Uncle Arthur believes it is better if he and I were to go to Starfall to pay our visit" Jon announced. _No.._

"No," Ned said suddenly standing. Jon stared at him with raised brows. "I mean. You should not go, Jon"

"Might I ask why, my Lord?“ Jon motioned for him to sit.

"Lord Dayne may be your grandfather by blood but he seldom cared for you. I doubt other Daynes in Starfall would be rejoiced to see you, Jon" It was not honourable to forswear like this but it was not lie either. Jon had no blood ties or anything with the family. He can not wend South.

"Is it so, Lord Stark? Uncle Arthur tells me different" Jon said now again, a smile back in his face as if to be true he could sense his lie.

_Damn you Arthur._

"You can call me Father, Jon and .. " Ned was Interrupted by Jon.

"I shall not." Jon said now in a deadpan voice. "For you are not my father but Uncle"

Ned felt like his breathing had cut short. His eyes were wide now. Arthur.. _Curse him_. How could he reveal just like this?

"Speechless are you, Uncle?" Jon asked with a hint of amusement flashing across his face.

"Jon.. I.. You need to.. " Ned tried to reason with his nephew; he got interrupted imprudently.

"It's Daemon, I think"

Ned upheaved from his seat in a flash and stride towards the door. He opened the door and commanded Desmond to stand in passage and restrain anyone coming in his solar.

Ned took his seat and studied Jon's face. The boy looked calm and his eyes tinted malignant. "What are you about to do then? “ He asked the boy.

" I think I must join the Night's Watch, uncle. I shall be a black brother now. I want not to put my family in harm by declaring for the throne" Jon said softly. Ned didn't like him calling Uncle. It tickled strange to his ears what he was saying. "I intend to meet Uncle Benjen there. I am sure that my sword skill would make me a ranger at once. We shall go ranging beyond the Wall together fighting against the wildlings and protecting the realm" Jon announced.

Ned was more than shocked. "Are you sure, Jon? “

The boy gave a bitter laugh "Course, I am not. Tell me Uncle why in seven hells would I freeze my balls at that frozen hellhole? "

Ned scowled at Jon. The boy has big mouth

"And when I am a rightful heir to the Iron Throne on top of that? I intend to declare for the throne“ The boy declared. Ned's fears came true. "I shall retake my throne " _Promise me Ned_

"Care to tell me how would you be able to do so?" He asked the boy sitting in front of him.

Jon grinned at him. "First with your support of course, not yours alone, mind you"

"I will not help you start a war, Jon. Countless deaths need not to be wasted again" Ned disclosed Jon's plan.

Jon frowned. "Tell me uncle. Do you fear that I might spring a war or are you afraid would your friend might lose the throne that you all fought so hard to earn?"

Anger stirred inside Ned "That's enough Jon. I raised you better than this"

"Aye, by raising better you meant lying to your Lady wife and ignorant to her hatred towards me then I think you just did that. You raised me to be better than caring for others' opinion" Jon said nonchalantly brushing his fingers through his hair.

"Jon, you must try to understand me. I promised your mother to keep you safe. I didn't know Catelyn well then" Ned tried to reason with him. His voice showed his frustrations.

"Aye, you did keep your promise, uncle. I am safe, is it? Bugger that, I am not whining about your wife. I care not about her" Ned didn't like what he was about to say.

"Great wrongs have been done to me but the past is dust now" Jon told him. 

He reluctantly agreed. "You can have a peaceful life Jon. You need not to fight a war or join Night's Watch. I would give you a castle of your own. Moat Cailin or Sea dragon point whichever you prefer" Ned offered.

"Spare me your offers, Lord Stark. I am the rightful King by blood and you dare offer me your feeble tumbledown castles?" Jon argued with disdain flaring in his voice.

"Robert won the throne right by conquest" Ned countered back not backing down. His eyes now hard.

"I can tell. Might I ask my Lord Stark what would he do assuming that, God's forbid, someday Boltons might capture Winterfell amidst war. Would he then accept them as rightful Lords of Winterfell ?" Jon asked with a vicious smile glistening across his features. 

Ned sealed his lips, unable to answer. 

Jon smirked " Exactly what I thought "

He then stood up. "You are either with me or against me, my dear _Father_ " 

Jon emphasized the word Father. Ned flinched when he called him so. 

"For I have heard, your dear friend Robert Baretheon's hatred for Targaryen is sight to behold." Jon looked very smug now " I wonder how furious would he be when he finds out a son of his beloved Lyanna Stark, sired by Rhaegar Targaryen is alive raised by no other than his friend Ned Stark"

Fear was burning inside him now. _No Jon can not mean that_

"No one must know that. You would not risk your family like that." Ned said trying to be confident but failing miserably.

Jon smirked hearing him. He slowly moved across the table near fireworks, eyes glued on him. Like a wolf stalking its prey. _No like a dragon._

"You think so high of me, Uncle? Trust me I, myself, would send a messenger to Red Keep bearing the news and flee across the narrow sea waiting for the moment when you would call your bannermans to lead into another, how you put that? oh yes, countless deaths“ Ned stared at the boy with wide eyes and mouth agape.

_Gods be good, this boy is mad just like his father and grandfather. How did I not see this coming?_

"It's either me or him, Lord Stark. Curse yourself with Kinslaying and be done with me or help me." Jon warned him.

"Are you threatening me, boy? “ Ned leveled with suppressed anger lining in his voice,

"Boy is it, huh?" Jon chuckled "I am advising you to do the right thing"

"I should have never taken you in my home" Ned confessed, his fist hitting the table.

"You should have never taken arms against the Crown in the first place" Jon argued evenly. His face seething.

"So Aerys Targaryen could have my head? Your mad grandfather killed my Lord father and brother" Ned all but yelled.

"Careful now, careful uncle. You don't want the whole castle to hear, do you? " That certainly calmed him.

"As I have said earlier, the past is dust. Crying over spilt milk would do us no good. What am I supposed to do then? huh? “  
Ned didn't speak so he continued to rant.

"Hide like this forever? You want me to stifle behind as your bastard. The only stain in your precious honor. You want me to be a _Snow_ when I have my own name? I beg to differ, Lord Stark"

Ned was unsure what to say. The boy was right about this. So he kept silent.

"Do you think the rest of the Targaryens across the narrow sea would do nothing? They must be planning to invade by now." Jon muttered in a low voice.

"And you want to join them, right?" Ned countered him.

The fire in brazier was gone. The room was cold. Winds were swirling through the windows.

Jon shook his head. "I don't even know if they see me as a bastard or trueborn. A King is a far cry." _And as family?_

"You are biting off more than you can chew. You know not who Robert is? Who Tywin Lannister is?" Ned said, remembering the corpses of Princess Elia, little Rhaenys and the baby Aegon. The vision still gives him chills to his bones.

"I don't want to know whoever they are " Jon expressed shrugging his shoulder "All I want is the Iron Throne"

"Why? "

"You got more in your life than you deserve. I got but naught I deserve" His mouth pulling a grimace. "You tell me. Why?"

Jon paced in the direction of the door before turning towards him. " I am leaving for Starfall on the morrow. Pray for my quick death, uncle. We shall talk again next time" With that he slipped off the solar leaving Ned staggered.

 _Lya, what kind of trouble is this?_ Ned was lost deep in his thoughts. Ned was left very conflicted about this.

That evening Jon didn't show up for the supper. A few of the guards might have heard him yelling. They had mistaken it as Ned scolding Jon. He was thankful that Catelyn didn't ask about it but he can feel his family members' eyes watching him, he did his best to ignore them.

####  Jon IV 

Jon woke up early as usual. The crack of dawn was bright as any day and the winds were crispy. Today he would not go for sword drilling. For, he shall leave Winterfell today. Truth be told, he was very much excited to leave Winterfell, and sail to Starfall. Jon was walking towards the Kitchen and some of the servants were throwing him strange looks like _pity?_

They are showing sympathy to me. Jon wondered why? He sat at the table. The servants serve him bread and boiled eggs. _As usual._ He started feeding. One of the servant maids came to him. She was a pretty one. Black hair and brown eyes. _What was her name again? Lyra? Betha?_ Jon recollect he fucked the girl once. She flashed him a smile. Jon raised an eyebrow at her.

"I'm sorry to hear Lord Stark admonishing you the other day" She told him.

"Who told you that?" Jon asked her. Little dumbfounded.

"The whole castle is gossiping about it. They say Lord Stark was yelling at you" She whispered. _Ah, yes. He was  
_

Jon smiled at her "Twas' naught to worry, Lyra"

The girl scowled at him "The name is Baela"

The corner of his mouth twitched. The girl walked away. He saw Uncle Arthur stalked in. _My Kingsguard_. Jon quickly finished his food. He didn't want to talk right now.

"We shall depart in a few hours" Ser Arthur informed him.

Jon nodded "Very well then. I need to say my farewell"

Jon had left the kitchen. His thoughts went onto a last day argument with Lord Stark. He wanted not to put Lord Stark in such a situation but he had no other choice. The man must make up his mind. He had been babbling about how the pack survives, all his life as far as Jon could recall. Now he means to abandon. No Jon won't let that befall. The man may have given him home but he is also the one who is responsible for tearing his actual home. _I am his King by right. He must obey me._ Jon could care less what the man thinks of him now.

Jon went to the smithy. He saw Milken there. Already ready to start the day.

"Is it done, Mikken?“ Mikken turned around to see him. Mikken was an old man with white beard and ugly face, and a grim voice.

" Aye, I have made your sword, " Mikken replied. He went inside and brought a thin slender sword that Jon had ordered him to craft.

Jon took the sword in his hand. It was very light. He smiled "Perfect"

"It is for the little Lady, is it not?" The old man asked.

"You have correct assumptions" Jon admitted.

The old man cracked a smile. "Now get back to your work" Jon reminded.

The old man smiled all but gone in an instant. Jon smirked at him and strode away.

It was not a long walk to the armory. He packed the sword and took the covered bridge across to the keep.

He didn't knock in front of her door and slipped inside. He never knocked at her door and neither would she at his door.  
Arya was in her room, stroking Nymeria's fur in her bed. Jon cleared his throat to get her attention. She glanced at him and rose from her bed.

"Finished your training already?" She asked him yawning.

"Nay, I am leaving Winterfell today thought it would be appropriate to tell you." Jon told her.

"What?" Arya yelled. "You are just going to leave cause father chastened you" Jon was amused at her reaction.

"Arya, I am going with Ser Arthur to Dorne. His father died just recently" Jon told her.

"Oh" She said. "So you are going to visit your grandfather? “ Jon didn't want to lie to her, but he had to.

He nodded his head.

" I have something made for you" Jon spoke up before she could ask when he would return.

"A present?" Her face lit up.

"You could call it that. Close the door"

Immediately Arya left her bed and checked the Hall before closing the door. The grey wolf regarded him silently with its dark golden eyes.

Jon pulled off the rags he had wrapped it in. He held the sword out to her. 

Area's dark eyes went wide. " A sword, "

The scabbard was soft grey leather. Jon drew the sword so that she could see the deep blue sheen of the steel.

"This is no toy" Jon warned her. "Be careful not to cut yourself. The edges are sharp to shave with"

"Girls don't shave" Arya said. There she is. I am advising her sharpness of blade and she picks up another meaning. Jon shook his head fondly.

"Maybe they should. Have you seen that ugly septa's ugly legs?" Arya giggled hearing that.

"it's so skinny" She said, Jon knew not whether she meant the sword or septa's ugly legs.

"I can tell, but so are you"Jon told her "I had Mikken made this special. The bravos use swords like this in Pentos and Myra and the other free cities. It won't hack a man's head off, but it can poke holes if you're are fast enough "

Arya raised a skeptical brow at him.

"What?" Jon rolled his eyes before saying "Alright, Uncle Arthur told me"

"So it seems" Arya accepted "I can be fast to poke holes"

Jon looked at her and she had this childish fantasy pulled across her face. The same that he and Robb used to have when they were children. He remembered once during that time he had declared himself the future Lord of Winterfell while playing. Robb was quick to remind him that it was not possible because he was naught but a bastard. Robb was inadvertent about what he said but Jon had never forgotten. _He remembers_. The anguish and grudge pushed him further inflaming the blaze of resentment and hunger to be better than Robb.

Jon forced a smile. "You have to work everyday" He corrected her stance. "How does it feel to hold a sword? It feels good,does it not? "

Arya nodded fiercely "Aye, it does"

"First lesson always remember" Jon said "Stick them up with the pointy end"

Arya hit him with the flat side of her blade "I know that, silly" Jon grinned at her

"I will miss you, little sister" Jon admitted in a soft voice.

"And I, you" Arya said now on the verge of tears. She went to hug but Jon halted her.

"Put down your sword first" Jon said chuckling. Arya immediately put down her sword and gave him a tight hug.

"Every good sword has a name" Jon said "What would be yours?"

"Like Ice?" Arya said, she studied her blade.

"Needle. It's name shall be Needle" Arya declared. Jon grinned at her.

It was almost time to depart. Jon saw Robb, Bran and Theon waiting for him in the courtyard.

Robb went to hug him tight. "So when am I going to see that pretty face of yours again?"

"Maybe next time when you finally are able to bury your small pecker inside someone" Jon bantered. Robb immediately elbowed to remind Bran was there.

Robb moved aside and Bran pounced on him. Jon knelt to hug him. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Lord and Lady Stark standing up at the bridge between armory and Keep. He paid them no mind.

"Will you bring presents when you return?" Bran asked with excitement.

"I will, I promise" Jon swore. Rickon was still small so he was with his mother. Jon knew the wall would melt before Lady Stark would say him farewell not that he wanted to look at the women's frozen face. 

"Snow" Theon called him.

Whatever the recent brawl with Theon was, it was good be around beating and taunting him.

"Theon" Jon gave a brief nod.

"Farewell" He blankly said. Jon gave him a smug smile.

"The next time I meet you. I hope you would be better with your sword. The whores would finally stop teasing you then" Jon teased him.

Theon glared at him. Bran pretending to be not around. Robb was holding his smile back.

"Ros is yours now" Jon said before moving to the stable where he met Ser Arthur, Shadow and Ghost. Ser Arthur had already packed the necessary foods and also the marriage papers and the dragon egg. The South Gate opened and they galloped towards White Harbour.


	10. Jon V

####  JON V 

They reached white harbor in a ten days ride. Their journey was tiring. Two riders can move as fast as one can, and a great deal faster than a long column burdened by wagon and wheelhouses. They followed White Knife down to the sea, and were planning to hire a ship at White Harbor. White Harbor's walls of whitewashed stone raised before him, on the eastern shore where White Knife plunged into the bay.

White Harbor, the seat of House Manderly, one of the five major cities of Westeros and the only city of the North. Jon pondered. This was his first time in White Harbor. Jon was dipped with excitement. Jon remembered Lord Wyman Manderly from the harvest feast at Winterfell, the fattest man he had ever seen. _Lord Too-Fat-to-Sit-a-Horse._ When one is the Lord of City like this, Jon now knew why he was so fat. The city itself was like the stories Sansa loves to read.

They went forth inside the city walls. It was clean and well-order, with wide straight cobbled streets that made it easy for them to find the way. The houses were built of whitewashed stone, with sternly pitched roofs of dark grey slate. Jon was observing the place akin with fascination.

"Magnificent, wouldn't you call it?“ Arthur said with a smirk on his face. Jon so desperately wanted to wipe off that smug look.

The man has been to many a places in Westeros suchlike Kingslanding and Lannisport, this must be nothing new to him. Regardless, Jon was grateful the man still viewed him as his protege and nephew, not as King. He had fallen out with his _Uncle_ , Jon mused with a ting of regret and annoyance, but not with him.

"Aye, I would call that" He agreed. If Winterfell was the heart of the North, then White Harbor would be its mouth. Jon glanced around and saw the ancient Wolf's den. Maester Luwin once told him, his namesake King Jon Stark raised the Wolf's Den to defend the mouth of the White Knife from raiders across the sea. He told him that passed as the seat of younger sons, brothers, uncles and cousins to the former Kings in the North. The Greystarks lasted the longest, holding the Wolf's Den for five centuries, until they joined the Dreadfort in rebellion against the Starks of Winterfell.

Proud beamed in his heart for a moment. _But your name is not Jon._ Something inside him whispered. _Daemon Targaryen_. There was but naught to be proud of this name. Jon reflected. The most notable Daemons were blackfyres; the legitimate bastard and his descendants who rose to rebellion against the Crown on five numerous occasions. The other Targaryen, Jon knew naught about him. Some dragonlord who participated in the infamous dance with dragons. Jon didn't even read the whole book completely. The last time he read about it was three years ago when he had that strange dream. _Would that be my future?_ Jon wondered.

"When are we going to board a ship?" Jon asked Arthur.

"Thought it was better if we had food first" Ser Arthur answered "we should stay in some tavern or inn, I shall go and board a ship. Dusk is about fall. Twould be better we move on the morrow" Jon nodded.

Down past the streets, there was an alley where they were selling fried cod. Over there was a brothel near the Wolf's Den. Whores were watching them from the balcony. They were gossiping among each other and laughing. Two of them were pretty. Jon noticed. One of them, the black haired, was pointing her fingers at them and giggling. Jon glanced around to see Arthur, he was paying them no mind. Jon smirked at Arthur.

"Uncle, don't you think we should pay them a visit?" Jon asked, gesturing towards the whores who were now watching them. "Its past time you use your sword, not Dawn, mind you"

Arthur bristled at him. "No. I think not. You should also stop your proximity by now" Jon snorted. "You ought to take your responsibility" Ser Arthur muttered.

Jon ignored the man and waved at the whores from down the balcony at the street and flashed them a smile. He heard Ser Arthur groaning. Ser Arthur all but dragged him from there whilst the whores were laughing at them.

"I wonder have you ever been inside women?" Jon asked him again.

Ser Arthur didn't reply to that. He instead pulled the reins to move his horse forward. Shadow was looming behind him like the ever so faithful horse he was. Ghost was inside the pannier. Ghost seldom made sound during the entire ride. He was very much like Shadow. _Always quite._  
Surprisingly so. They soon reached the Inn. Foods were served afterwards Ser Arthur went to book a ship.

The next morning they went to the docks. Ser Arthur came late at night and told him he found a ship to board at Starfall. The _Merry Midwife_ . Ser Arthur told him the name of the cog. He paid them 800 silver stags for the voyage.

It looked like an old cog as the other ships at the harbor looked lavish a distinct contrast could be seen. Its figurehead showed a laughing woman holding an infant by one foot, but the women's cheeks and the baby's bottom were both picked by wormholes. Its hull was covered by uncounted layers of brown paint and the sails were grey and tattered. Jon wondered if the ship would stay afloat at all.

"It looks quite an old ship" Jon said beholding the ship.

"I bet it does" Ser Arthur agreed "not many would sail for Starfall, it is not even a port city, the cog was not used for moons now so the captain agreed for Starfall" Ser Arthur said appearing proud.

The captain of the ship was an ugly man. Five feet tall looks like a dwarf, a hairy man, dyes his hair and whiskers a mossy green. It made him look like a tree slump in yellow boots. Jon noted. When Jon asked why he is so hairy and not cut hair and beards. The Captain's reply was his father was an Ibbenese whaler and his mother a whore from Sistertone. _Merry Midwife for years had plied a humble trade between White Harbor and Sistertone. Ser Arthur had informed him. Jon scarcely knew what Ibbenese looked like but he imagined them to be like the captain.  
_

"I am a bastard the same as you" The captain had told him.

"Nay, I am much better looking and also my mother was no whore" Jon was quick to counter back.

A sailor who looked little older than him then guided him and Arthur to their cabins. Jon had taken Ghost but left Shadow in the lower decks.

A few days later he befriended the boy. He said his name was Devan. Another orphan of Sistertone. Jon was a bit saddened seeing them. _Their life is far more miserable than mine ever was as Jon Snow._ Jon reflected.

Ser Arthur had told him the journey would take more than a moon's turn. They had been sailing for a fortnight now. Traveling through the sea was the worst way to travel. Jon concluded. No women, no horse riding, no hunting, only an old cog, a couple of people and a narrow sea surrounding them. Sometimes storms trouble them endlessly.

Other than sword training with Ser Arthur, or feeding Shadow and Ghost, the only other thing Jon did was drinking northern wine with Devan and his friends. They boast stories about the beautiful whores of White Harbor and Sistertone, playing dice with them was also fun, they do almost everything that Ser Arthur loathes and it amused Jon up to no ends.

It was late evening, Jon was standing in the main deck overlooking the narrow sea. The captain had said they had sailed passed the Dragonstone and were somewhere between The Gullet and Bay of Pentos. Ghost was clutching his feet. Jon picked him and started stroking his furs. Ghost was nudging near his ears. The winds were blowing, the black hook was fluttering, he gazed at water deep into the sea and the deck was ghost quiet.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Ser Arthur's voice rang in his ear.

"I would say so, you must have been many a Royal fleets. It must be but nothing new to you"

"To be honest, I have seldom been to many ships. Yes, this cog is scarcely splendid but I have never traveled to my home in a ship" Ser Arthur said. "I always take the road"

"How is Starfall?" Jon asked him. Arthur furrowed his brow at him. "I mean how it looks like, you have told me but only a few times and I have stopped asking about ever since you told me Lord Dayne was not happy about my existence" He clarified.

"Twould be better if we sit there and talk, don't you think?" Ser Arthur motioned at the forecastle of the cog showing him the wine bottle and pair of cups.

Jon grinned at him and followed him to the upper deck climbing the stairs with Ghost in his arms.

They sat at the forecastle and it looked even better from here. Ser Arthur poured him some wine. Jon sipped his drink watching the Sun about to set in the west.

"Starfall is a beautiful castle" Ser Arthur started. "I have already told you how it looks, white walls and purple roofs, the Palestine Sword tower?“ Jon nodded sipping his drink.

"Starfall is built on a stony Island. The keep is situated at the highest part of the island" He continued taking a swig from his cup. 

"Starfall is nigh impassable, ships would be easily crash at the pronged rocks from the sharp streams of Torrentine river, if not then after coming ashore Archer would be ready to strike"

Jon frowned "Ser, we are not going to siege the castle, I am asking to know about the place not it's defence" Ser Arthur, the ever so soldier-at-arms. Jon reflected fondly. 

"What are you asking then?" Ser Arthur question looking confound.

"I was asking the places you love there.. " Jon sighed "Nevermind. Tell me Ser. Would Dorne declare for me once they knew about my existence?" Jon asked in a low voice so none could hear but the Knight.

Ser Arthur scowled at him"Aye, they would declare you life to forfeit. How could you think something like that?"

Jon looked bewildered at the knight "Princess Elia and her daughter were brutally murdered by Lannisters, were they not? The Lannisters are now tied to the Baretheon by marriage, when I declare for my throne they would be first to raise swords against me, so would not Dorne get a perfect chance to avenge their Princess?" _Was he stupid?_

Ser Arthur took another sip of his wine before answering "You" He said pointing at him now "are the living proof that Rhaegar betrayed their Princess..."

Jon cut him there "Their Princess could not birth an heir, aye I am that proof"

Arthur was about to retort but Jon beat him to it "You said yourself Rhaegar was inclined to look for another bride anyways, if not my mother than any other it would have been"

Arthur sighed "They don't know about that, in their eyes Prince Aegon was a true born and Prince Rhaegar doomed after going for Lyanna"

"On that I can agree. He did doom himself but would not they believe you that the infant was a fake? You are Dornish yourself and, a Kingsguard and a renowned Knight as well"

"Prince Doran might but not Prince Oberyn, the Red Viper, no sane man would dare tread on him. He would sooner plunged his spear inside you than hear you full."

"And you take me as Rhaegar Targaryen in his fancy armor raising my chest for the spear like he did to Robert Baretheon's war hammer?" Jon asked the Knight. He could see a tint of anger in the Knight's violet eyes even in the dusky light but Jon gazed him defiant.

"I would sooner thrust my sword in his belly before he could even look for his spear" Jon grumbled. Winds were brushing his hair now.

A silence fell between them. Waves weaved with eternal depth as the dusky light was fading, he was observing the view from the forecastle. Ghost was peering at him with his blood red eyes.

"The man himself has numerous bastards from numerous women, you say, so he would be pissed that Prince Rhaegar took another wife when his sister was useless? The man should be thankful that Rhaegar was not a whoremonger like him otherwise his sister would be constantly shunned" Jon said chuckling. Arthur was now gazing at the waves in silence.

Jon was getting more and more annoyed at his Kingsguard.

"You said Prince Doran might believe us?" Jon questioned a moment later again taking a swig of the cup.

"Aye, the man is calmer but cunning nonetheless, he would not declare for you unless he sees victory and he would want you to wed his daughter for sure, the Princess Arianne" Arthur muttered. That certainly got his attention fully. Jon was all ears now. 

"Princess Arianne?" Jon repeated pouring wine again. He noticed Arthur didn't pour after his first cup. 

"She was four years older than Princess Rhaenys. I have heard but naught about her wedding. She must be by age now." Arthur said,

_She must be in her twenties right now_

"I don't understand" Jon said, annoyed, "they would, this Prince Oberyn, would rather kill me than avenge their sister and niece?"

"It's not that.." Arthur started but Jon cut him off.

"From what I see is that these Dornish are nothing but weak. Brandon Stark, for all his mistakes, rode to the capital for his sister after just hearing about her abduction, which if I had to believe you, is a false accusation" Jon said, "but this so called Red Viper is not man enough to avenge his sister even after all these years?“

Arthur kept his lips tight. So Jon continued "and when someone is ready to aid him, he would rather attack me than help me, when I am by the law a half-brother to his niece, bugger that, when I am his true King?"

"The Dornish would not care, Prince Oberyn would not see it that way.. " Arthur tried to talk sense but wine was getting the best of Jon.

"To hell with your desert, your Dornish whores and your Prince, then" Jon growled,frustrated now. _Those imbeciles cunts_

"We shall find allies elsewhere" He announced.

"Reach?“ Arthur asked.

Jon's head was spinning now. "We shall talk about this when we reach Starfall. My head is spinning. Damn those Dornish Princes. Who is the heir of this Prince Doran" He asked.

"Princess Arianne, I believe" Arthur answered in a bored tone.

"So he have no sons?“

" He does," Ser Arthur said, shrugging his shoulder.

"Why women then?" Jon asked, now baffled. Ghost was nudging at bus hands. Jon started soothing him whilst talking with Arthur.

"Dornish don't follow the rules of other Kingdoms. They believe women are equal and can be heir"

Jon was amused hearing that. _So Princess Arianne can also bring me the Dornish spears. Why didn't he tell me this sooner?_

"Tell me about Dorne" Jon ordered his Kingsguard now.

"Dorne is different, in more ways than can be told" Ser Arthur told him, "vast deserts of red and white sand, forbidding mountains where treacherous passes are guarded by treacherous peoples, sweltering heat, sandstorms, scorpions, fiery food, poison, castles made of mud,dates and figs and blood oranges—these things comprise most of what the smallfolk of the SevenKingdoms know of Dorne. And all these things exist, to be sure, but there is far more to this ancient principality than that, for it has a history that stretches back to the Dawn age"

_Damn! he must be waiting when I would ask that_

"The Red Mountains that compose its western and northern boundaries have kept Dorne separate from the rest of the realm for thousands of years, you were born in Northwest of the Red Mountains of Dorne, tower that Rhaegar dubbed as _Tower of Joy_ " Ser Arthur said smiling. 

Jon snorted. _Aye, quite a joy it must have been to take a fourteen year child-women_

"Dorne has more in common with the distant North than either does with the realms that lie between them, I experienced " Ser Arthur chuckling,

"How so?“ Jon asked, curious now.

"One is hot and one is cold" Ser Arthur said, Jon thought the man was drunk now. _How is that common?_

"yet these ancient kingdoms of sand and snow are set apart from the rest of Westeros by history, culture,and tradition. Both are thinly populated, compared to others. Both cling stubbornly to their own laws and their own traditions" That made sense now. Jon considered now brushing his hair back.

"Neither was ever truly conquered by the dragons" Arthur said sharply "The King in The North accepted Aegon Targaryen as his overlord peaceably, whilst Dorne resisted the might of the Targaryens valiantly for almost two hundred years, before finally submitting to the Iron Throne through marriage" _Maybe there are not weak after all_

"Dornishmen and Northmen alike are derided as savages by the ignorant of the five civilized kingdoms, and celebrated for their valor by those who have crossed swords with them" Ser Arthur said, Jon now seems to like Dorne now.

But that was not what Jon wanted to hear. He was babbling like Maester Luwin about history.

"Stop that, Uncle" Jon realized, he is way too drunk now. He had not called Arthur, his Uncle, alone for quite a time now.

"Tell me about women, Dornish Women"

Ser Arthur glanced at him. "Tell me, I have heard Dornish are known for their sexual boldness" Jon urged him to say.

"Aye, Dornish does have large sexual appetites. The Rhoynar mostly" Ser Arthur said.

Jon raised a skeptical brow at him.

"There are three types of Dornish. Stoney Dornishmen, Sandy Dornishmen and Salty Dornishmen"

"Which are you then?" Jon asked him,

Ser Arthur's face was not vividly visible now. The sun was all but fallen. _The same way Martells would bow before me_. Jon found himself grinning like an idiot.

Ser Arthur voice broke him from his musings "Stoney Dornishmen; fair hair and face, we live near mountains on the west side of Dorne, mostly Andals and Firstmen"

Jon hummed. "Alright. So what about Rhoynars?" Jon asked, not forgetting about his main desire.

"They are the salty Dornishmen of the coasts, dark-haired and lithe and olive-skinned, have the queerest customs and the most Rhoynish blood" Ser Arthur informed him "The Numerous Martells are the salty Dornish ones, Princess Nymeria of the Rhoynar marriage to Lord Mors Martell made sure of that"

_Gods are favouring me now. I can only pray the Princess would be pretty to look at._

Jon found himself remembering a song.

_"Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done, "_

" _the Dornishmen's taken my life,_ "

" _But what does it matter, for all men must die,_ "

" _and I've tasted the Dornishmen's wife!_ "

Ser Arthur for a moment gasped, then started laughing.

"Gods, you sing just like _him_ though northern accent it maybe" Ser Arthur told Jon, drunk he maybe but Jon knew who Arthur referred to.

 _Had he not heard me sing before? The wine is doing the work, I guess. Or was it doing its work on me?_ Jon wondered.

"Anyways we are heading to Volantis after Starfall, are we not?“

"I guess so" Jon replied not with confidence "how are they like I mean Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys?"

"Queen Rhaella was a delicate but a loving mother,she was a dutiful woman to her husband but she ...she..was always tortured by her mad husband-brother" _Damn those inbreds. Who would torture his own sister and the same sister his wife also_

Jon could tell Arthur was hesitant to speak about the matter right now.

"What didn't your Prince do anything?"

"He was helpless. King Aerys may have been mad but he had the power. He could have easily burnt him, had Rhaegar went against him" Ser Arthur whispered

"Why not kill him then?" Jon found himself asking.

"We should probably talk about this any other time, it's getting darker" Ser Arthur offered instead of answering, "it would do us good if we head inside" Jon was not satisfied but he had to agree, it was indeed dark now someone might eavesdrop them.

Jon found Ghost was already gone by that time. They soon went inside their cabin and asked for food. He asked the sailor to feed Shadow. Ghost ate himself and soon Jon found himself slumping in his bed inside the cabin. He had drunk quite a lot of wine the day. Soon sleep overtook him.


	11. Jon VI - Ashara III

####  Jon VI 

It had been a moon turn; they had been afloat in the _Merry Midwife_ and lastly they had reached near the shore of Starfall. They had crossed the Narrow Sea, past the island of Stepstones, and now had sailed at the Sunset Sea. The sky was clear; it was midday and the damn heat was insufferable. Jon had bought a couple of tunics and trousers from Devan as he had only warmer clothes at Winterfell, he sure needed light clothes if the heat had to say anything here in Dorne. He was wearing a light white tunic and black breeches. Sweats were spurting down his thighs. All he wanted right now was to bathe in cold water. He peered around the castle from the deck of the cog. It was really beautiful as Ser Arthur has said. The white walls and purple roofs were looming ahead. The color of House Dayne. Jon reflected.

As the cog reached the dockyard, they were on shore. Jon saw the Coat of arms of House Dayne; a white sword and falling star crossed on a purple background. Star falls and Dawn arises. _The sword of the Morning_. A fitting name. Jon thought.

The castle was clustered persuasively at the mouth of river Torrentine, as it pours out in the Sunset Sea. Mountains erupt on both sides of the river which was fast flowing and in its middle the Stoney Island where Starfall was situated. As they got closer, Jon noticed the white colored walls of Starfall were similar to the pale milky color of the sword _Dawn_ as was the highest tower which elongated proudly into the sky. _The Palestone Sword tower._ The former seats of Kings of Torrentine.

When they arrived on land several guards wearing the arms of House Dayne with spears at their back were already stationed there. Ser Arthur Dayne stepped up front and announced himself in a stern voice,

"I am Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning and this is my nephew Jon Snow, I am here to see my sister"

Several of the guards now were peering at Ser Arthur with a look of wonder. Jon smirked seeing that. _Not everyday they get to meet the legendary Sword of the Morning._ Jon mused.

One of the guards removed his helm. He was a good looking man with sandy hair. Must be the Stoney Dornishmen. Jon recited.

"My Lord, welcome back. I am Ser Ulrick Drinkwater, the Master-at-arms of Starfall"

_Drinkwater? What kind of name is that? Pisswater would have been better_

The man looked at him then. He had a look of uncertainty flashing across his face. _At least he is not looking at me with disgust_

The man gave him a brief nod and Jon nodded back.

"These are our companions, they will stay with us for a few days," Ser Arthur said, gesturing at Casso Mogat, the hairy Captain and his sailors.

"Very well, Ser" The Knight said and beckoned them to follow.

The castle of Starfall was really at the highest place of the Island. It was so different from Winterfell. Granted it was not as big as Winterfell but it was beautiful to look at nonetheless. Whilst Winterfell was all grey and dark, Starfall was all white and bright. Jon observed.

The winds were swirling adequately. Not like the cold bone chilling winds of winter like at North. They finally reached the castle.

They have first met Lady Allyria Dayne, younger sister of Ser Arthur. She was a comely woman, dark hair and violet eyes, and looked older than him. Besides her was a young boy of probably ten name days or so. He had pale blonde hair identical like Ser Arthur Dayne and dark blue violet eyes so much like Ser Arthur's. The boy looked very alike Ser Arthur that anyone could have believed the boy to be Ser Arthur's son rather than his nephew. Jon's eyes lingered on the boy for a moment then he realized he needed to greet them as well.

"My Lady" He said, awkwardly kissing her knuckles "tis a pleasure to meet you" Jon knew not whether to give her a hug or kiss her knuckles or nod his head.

"Nephew. It is so good to finally meet you." She exclaimed with a ting of blush across her cheeks.

"Meet your cousin, Edric Dayne, next Lord of Starfall, we call him Ned" _Ned? Why I wonder,_ Jon didn't ask though.

The blonde boy had only eyes for Ser Arthur Dayne. Jon could see the awe in his eyes. Jon had to resist himself from rolling his eyes. _What is with these boys and their dreams for knights? Bran was much the same. He is meeting his legendary uncle for the first time, I am being an ass here. Ser Arthur has always been influential figure._

"Nice meeting you, Ned" Jon said, gaining the boy's attention. _I am not calling this kid a Lord_

"The pleasure is mine, my lor.. Ser Jon" The boy was stammering.

"Just call me Jon, I am no Knight or Lord of anything" _But a King_

"Why, are you not Knighted yet?" The boy asked in a curious tone. Jon knew not much about Knighthood but he did know fourteen was rather early to be knighted.

"I don't want to be a Knight"Jon said nonchalantly,  
_A man's worth is not marked by Ser before his name._ Maester Luwin had once told him.

" But why?" The boy was getting annoying now.

"Because I don't fancy Knights" Jon said in a rather sharp voice, he realized. The boy immediately pursed his lips.

"I am sorry" The boy started apologizing. _What a weasel. I should have been the one to apologize._

"Tis not your fault. Ser Arthur and I had been sailing for a moon turn now we are just tired"

"The servants here are going to attend you to your rooms. Bath is drawn and food will be served" Lady Allyria spoke offering a smile,

Jon smiled back and nodded. He didn't fail to miss the frown across Ser Arthur's face but he ignored the man and strode off. He was just too tired to think anything otherwise.

The next day Jon had visited Lord Dayne at his funeral. The Daynes were followers of Seven so Lord Dayne was displayed atop an altar, they went to the Sept and visited him.

Jon was in the courtyard of Starfall. It was not much bigger than Winterfell but had a better view to look at. The guards and especially Ned was eager to see Ser Arthur Dayne dance with his sword. It had been a sennight since they arrived here at Starfall now.

The yard was slowly filling with spectators. Lady Allyria had told them a few days prior in the supper that most of the houses from Dorne had paid their visit save House Nymeros Martell and the Daynes from High Hermitage.

Just at the sunrise, the Knight of High Hermitage happened to visit. High Hermitage was the closest castle to Starfall, and they were cadent branch of House Dayne yet after nigh two moons of Lord Dayne death, the Knight seems to pay his visit. Either it was him being disrespectful to the Daynes of Starfall or he was waiting to see Ser Arthur Dayne, Jon suspected both.

Ser Arthur had told him the Dornishmen are treacherous by nature. _Do not trust everything they say._ He had cautioned him. Jon in a jest had replied "Were not the people of the five civilized Kingdoms and especially Kingslanding full of treacherous people, you always seem to be confuse, uncle?"

His reply was. "You can jape all you wish and humour yourself as it pleases you or you can see things for what they are" His face was solomon but his eyes were blazing making him to see things"We are not in Winterfell anymore, I wagon the path from here would be harder,"

Jon felt a ting of shame. It was his throne they were scheming to win and here he was completely useless with a castel-forged sword and nothing else.

Be that as it may but t'would be fun to see Ser Arthur Dayne beat the shit out of Dickstar and see him crawl away with his head between his tail. Anyone could see hatred the man borrowed for Ser Arthur. No sooner had the dimwit seen him and Arthur, he had started to insult him and Lady Ashara. In accordance to the moron, Jon was a product of lust, he was really preaching as a septa in Dorne, and bastard of Stark dog. The man didn't strike to Jon as a Targaryen loyalist though he looked like one.

For all his big mouth, Gerold Dayne was a very handsome man with collar-length thick silver hair and the streak of coal black hair, high cheekbones, strong jaw and very dark purple eyes that almost looked black. If Jon didn't know any better he would have passed Daynes as Valyrians.

Ser Gerold thinks Ser Arthur is _unworthy_ of possessing Dawn as he shamed his House and Kingsguard by living in the Stark home raising his bastard nephew. _If only that fool knew._ Jon mused. Nonetheless, the man was brave and stupid enough to challenge Ser Arthur Dayne after insulting his sister.

Ser Arthur was wearing chain mail and breeches whilst Darkstar was in full plated steel armor.

The courtyard rang to the song of swords.

Darkstar right away went for the attack. Ser Arthur stumble backwards, defending himself. The man was skilled for sure. Jon didn't doubt that. He was uncertain if he could beat the man or not but Ser Arthur is not just any other Knight.

Gerold Dayne went for the straight cut with his longsword but Ser Arthur was guarded. He went low but Arthur partied his each blow with one of his own.

Ser Arthur took a triangle step and took halfsword guard and went for a killing blow.

 _Stand with your left foot forward and your right foot back; the left foot points forward and the right foot angles out. Step forward and to the right with your right foot so that it is even with your left foot, and step back with your left foot so that your feet are now in the mirror position from where they started. This is triangle step on the right foot. The triangle step changes left foot and moves slightly to the side, without changing distance._ Jon recited his lessons.

Darkstar barely blocked the strike and stumbled backwards.

When Darkstar raised his sword, Ser Arthur went underneath it with a sweeping blow that crunched against the back of Darkstar's leg and sent him staggering. His downcut was answered by Ser Arthur with an overhand that donned his helm. When the dolt tried a sideswing, Ser Arthur swept aside his blade and slammed it with the flat part of the sword into his chest. Gerold lost his footing and was kicked down. _He had taught me that trick._ Jon reflected he had used that trick once against Robb.

"I yield" Gerold Dayne said, Ser Arthur's sword was in his neck.

The people around started cheering, though no one more so than little Ned.

Darkstar's face was now really dark. Jon thought the moniker was really stupid. _I am of the night._ Just because Arthur Dayne was the  
Sword of the morning?

After all the cheers went down and Darkstar left the yard like a beaten dog. Jon approached Arthur, a man called for Ser Arthur.

"Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, still as deadly as all those years back" Jon turned around to glance at who it was. A man in all silks approached them, behind him was a woman and a couple of guards wearing the arms and carrying sigil of Sun and Spear. His face was lined and saturnine, with thin arched brows above large eyes as black and shiny as pools of coal oil. Only a few streaks of silver marred the lustrous black hair that receded from his brow in a widow's peak as sharpy pointed as his nose. _A salty Dornishmen for certain_

Jon saw Arthur visibly tensed at his side. "Prince Oberyn" Arthur said with a bow.

_The Red Viper_

####  Ashara III 

**Pentos**

Ashara was in distress. They had docked at the Bay of Pentos moon turn ago. She could not inform Allyria that they had now moved from Volantis to Pentos. Prince Viserys' decision to depart for Pentos was all of a sudden as soon as she received news of her father. The messenger was not welcome inside the Blackwalls. She also feared that Starfall would have hosted the majority of Dornish Lords, had she sent a message from Volantis anything could have happened. Ashara now needs to find a trustworthy messenger to carry the news.

Ashara was rather skeptical about this Magister of Pentos, Illyrio Mopatis. A doubt that was shared by Dowager Queen Rhaella.

.

Illyrio was a grotesque fat man with a forked yellow beard. His silk robes were large enough to serve as a tourney pavilion. Ashara mused. He was the fattest man Ashara had ever seen. _He reminds me of cow._

It didn't help the matter that the magister was instantly close with Prince Viserys. Rhaella knew the magister was not to be trusted. They were invited to have a meal with this Magister. Ashara was very much eager to know why was the cow helping them and what he wanted in return.

Ashara rolled from her bed. The room was dim but there were bars of yellow sunlight showing between slats of shutters. She stood at the Myrish carpets as soft as new spring grass. She went to the window seat and glanced outside.

Beneath her window six cherry trees stood sentinel around a marvel pool, their slender branches bare and brown. A naked boy stood on the water, poised to the duel with a braavosi sword in hand that shimmered like true steel. The statue was made of painted marble. He looked lithe and handsome, no older than six and ten, with straight blonde hair that brushed his shoulders. Ashara wondered who it was.

Across the pool stood a brick wall nigh twelve feet high, with iron spikes along it's top. Beyond that was the city. A sea of titled rooftops crowded closed around a bay. Ashara recalled.

Pentos was a large port city. It was as populous as Volantis. Pentos was the closest free cities to Dragonstone and Kingslanding. Pentoshi people are mostly merchants descendants of Andals and Valyrians. Ashara noticed slavery is lesser in Pentos than Volantis.

Ashara dressed herself in her blue gown that was gifted to her by one of her admirers back in Volantis.

She then strode off towards Dany's room. Together they went for the meal.

"What do you think Magister is helping us, Ash?" Dany asked her as they were walking towards corridor.

"We are about to know that, Dany"

A silence followed them. Ashara noticed the Unsullied guards and serving maids on their way.

"Are you missing _him_?" Ashara asked with a knowing look.

Dany flushed "Not much actually, Ash. I am surprised"

Ashara grinned at her "I told you so. Only infatuation. Nothing else" Dany further blushed. _My sweet Princess_

They reached the invited place.

The cheesemonger was leaning on a padded couch, devouring hot peppers and pearl onions from a wooden bowl. His brow was dotted with beads of sweat, his pig eyes shining above his fat cheeks at the sight of her and Daenerys. He was covered in jewels. Amethyst, onyx, ruby, sapphire, emerald, jade, diamonds all dancing in his fingers. _Is the man trying to show his wealth to us?_ Ashara wondered. If so then Viserys is certainly enchanted.

"Come sit, my Princess, my Lady" The cheesemonger beckoned them to take a seat.

Viserys and Rhaella were already seated and Viserys seemed to be enjoying his wine very much. He was pouring wine from the expensive flagon.

There was enough wine there to keep them drunk forever. Ashara thought. Sweet reds from Reach, sour reds from Dorne, pale Pentoshi ambers, the green nectar of Myr, three score casks of Arbor gold, even wines from fabled east, from Qarth, Yi-Ti and Asshai by the shadow or so the Magister boasts.

"How are you faring in my house, Princess?" Illyrio asked.

"Your house is very big, my Lord, I am faring quite well and Pentos is a beautiful city" That was not a lie. Dany was quite enamored by the city and mance.

The Magister seemed pleased by her answer and grinned at her.

"As you all are here now, let's eat" Illyrio clapped his hands, and serving men came running.

They began with a meat of crab and monkfish, and cold egg lime soup as well. Then came quails in honey, a saddle of lamb, goose livers drowned in wine, buttered parsnips, and suckling pig. The sight of it all made Ashara sick, but she forced herself to try a spoon of soup for the sake of politeness, and once she had tasted it she was lost. She had never tasted such delicious food. The cooks might be old and fat, but they knew their business. She had never eaten so well, even at court or Volantis. As she was sucking the meat off the bones , Rhaella asked Illyrio why was he helping them. Viserys was about to speak but a glare from the Queen silenced him. The fat man shrugged.

"Tell me" Rhaella said, "why should a Magister of Pentos be concerned who wears the crown in Westeros? Where is the gain for you in this, my lord?" _Indeed_

"Why, my Queen, I am an old man, grown weary of this world and its treachery. Is it to strange that I should wish to do the some good before my days are done, to help a right monarch regain his birthright?"

 _Sweet words._ One that neither her nor Rhaella and Daenerys bought. Viserys seems to be the only one buying the shit flaked with honey coming out of the Cow's mouth.

"Also I would like to influence the Pentoshi merchant in Westeros?" The magister quickly added after seeing the glare from Rhaella.

"Enough with your sweet words, Illyrio. Tell me the truth, now." Rhaella commanded with Iron tone in her voice. _That is the Queen that Aerys muffled_

"Mother, Illyrio here only wants to help us, just like half of Westeros, as we are the blood of dragons," Viserys intervened. _The fool_

"You are a foolish boy if you think anyone would help you without personal gain. Speak not, when I am talking to him" Rhaella rebuked.

Viserys scowled hearing that. Anger flashed in his pale lilac eyes. _Those eyes are so like Aerys'_ He pursed his lips together. The wine was working in him. Ashara pondered.

Rhaella turned towards Illyrio now. The cheesemonger looked to cower at the Queen's gaze. He looked at her. Ashara had schooled a passive look at her face and so did Daenerys.

"I would like to be Master of Coins and Lord of a decent castel, if it pleases you after my help, my queen"

"Done" Viserys spoke again "I am the King, I will grant you, if you help us" The fool announced.

Rhaella ignored her son and asked "How can you help us then?" Ashara took a sip of her wine.

Dany was cutting a piece of meat seemingly looking uninterest but Ashara knew better. _A murmur's face_

"I am a dealer in spices, gemstones, dragon bone, and other, less savory things. I have friends in all nine free cities and even beyond, in Vaes Dothrak and the fabled lands beside Jade Sea" The Cheesemonger boasted. Viserys looked impressed.

"So?" Rhaella puked, unimpressed. Ashara had to hide her smile bringing the cup to her mouth to pretend drinking.

"I have my influence in Golden Company and other sells words that would be necessary for you to retake your throne" The Magister reprimanded.

Rhaella narrowed her eyes. "As far as I can recall, the Golden Company was formed by Aegor Rivers, Bittersteel, who sided with Daemon Blackfyre in First Blackfyre rebellion" _To be sure_

The Magister was about to speak but Rhaella beat him to it, raising a hand she continued " Golden Company fought in third and fourth Blackfyre rebellion aiding Haegon and Daemon III again led by Bittersteel"

"Yes, but, Aegor was then died while leading the Golden Company in a skirmish between Myr and Tyrosh in the Disputed Lands something more than fifty years ago" The Magister pointed out " So did Maelys Blackfyre, ever since then, the Gold Company are no longer commanded by an Blackfyres. Some considers them to be the only honourable sellsword company in the entire Known World and they have never broken their contract" Ashara noticed the man was uncomfortable whilst speaking about Blackfyres and he seems passionate about Golden Company.

"Even if what you say is true, we have but naught to pay them. I heard Golden Company is very pricely" Rhaella pointed out.

"That's where I come to play, my Queen, I can help you with that, no I would not pay them but I can convince them to payed their dues later once the Seven Kingdoms are taken" The Cheesemonger again said with his honey sweet voice.

Rhaella looked uncertain and Viserys looked like the happiest man in the world.

"Besides we have other sources to gain, army as well" The Magister said that like winds swirling in this air. _A hidden meaning_. Rhaella didn't miss that as well.

The rest of the meal, they continue talking about Pentos and other things. Viserys was very drunk. Daenerys quickly after that left for room.

Ashara and Rhaella afterwards left the place. She followed Rhaella to her rooms.

"Do you trust the man, Ash?" The Queen asked her.

Ashara shook her head."Everything about the man looks flamboyant " Ashara whispered "We have to keep an eye on Prince Viserys"

Rhaella sighed "The boy still hold his belief that he is the King and yet he seldom acts like one, oh how I miss my Rhaegar"

Ashara knew not what to say. So she remained silent.

"Is there any news about Arthur and Daemon?" Ashara can see desperation in her Voice.

Ashara shook her head "Viserys urged us to depart for Pentos early. I could not sent for a messenger." Rhaella showed her displeasure but reluctantly nodded.

Ashara left for her rooms afterwards. _I need to inform Allyria soon._


	12. Jon VII-Arthur VI

####  Jon VII 

_Dornishmen are treacherous by nature. _Ser Arthur had warned him before. Jon now was leisurely grasping why he said so, meeting the Dornish Prince, Oberyn Martell. The man's very presence made Jon unsettled. First Darkstar and now the Red Viper, Jon would be fool to believe that it was all but a mere happenstance that the both men just visited Starfall at the same time as them. Jon and Arthur were already planning to leave Starfall in a sennight. _We can not stay any longer than we are ought to._ Ser Arthur had told him as much. __

Regardless, the encounter with the Prince was gripping to say the least. Jon knew his eyes were different from others. It did bring him more so attention and people would gaze at him. The Prince was no different. He was momentarily startled but composed himself quickly. The man was trying his best to act as a regal Prince but Jon could see how desperately he wanted to shout at Arthur or even thrust his spear Jon dared to think. He recalled the talk he had with Arthur at the cog. How Oberyn Martell was ever the viper, deadly, dangerous and unpredictable. That no man would dare tread on him. Would that they were anywhere else but Dorne Jon would be more than ready to trade with him. The utter contempt the man held for him was not unexpected. Lady Catelyn had trained him better. Jon mused.

"So you are the bastard" The Prince had said to him with disdain in his voice, throwing him a smug look,

"Why, yes I am, my lord" Jon called the man my lord but not my Prince. His paramour, the lady Ellaria Sand was not a classical beauty as one would say but exotic nonetheless. Truth be told, Jon would not need to get drunk to bed her.

Jon would be lying if he had said he was not nervous. The man had intensely looked as if he was studying him. Beforehand, Jon had assumed he looked like his mother but ever since he had been told he was the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, the perspective changed. He imagined he resembled Rhaegar Targaryen more. The man before him was the good brother of Rhaegar. The man's sister and his niece paid the price because his father and mother loved or lusted after each other, Jon concluded both.

"Nothing bastard, just looking at the Stark's whelp who Arthur Dayne raised subsequently omitting his vow" There was a mocking edge to his voice that intrigued Jon. Ser Arthur Dayne had stood near him, worry was clearly written in his forehead.

"Well, you are looking at him then. I hope I am pleasant enough to subsequently omit a vow" He had replied shrugging.

The Prince had looked amused by his response. "I can tell, you got a sharp tongue for a bastard boy as green as you"

"On that I can agree," Jon had then said recalling how the whores would scream back at winter town brothels when he performed the Lord's Kiss. The Prince was giving him a knowing glance.

Lady Allyria by that point had called him to distract the Prince. Ser Arthur had gone with Oberyn and Jon headed towards the godswood of Starfall.

Arthur VI

Arthur was uptight. Sweats were slumping in his forehead not because of the heat or testing his blade with Ser Gerold. It was because of Prince Oberyn Martell. Arthur doubt not that Oberyn's spies have announced their presence in Starfall. His heart was about to burst when Oberyn was gabbling with Daemon. For a moment, Arthur feared Oberyn might see Rhaegar in Daemon and then put two and two together. Arthur shuddered to think what he might have done afterward.

"It has been very long last I saw you," Oberyn said nonchalantly, taking the edge off but Arthur knew better than that.

"Aye, last I saw you, you were about to tour in free cities'' Arthur remembered. It was just after little Princess Rhaneys second nameday. _After Tourney at Harrenhal._

"I did but then I regretted it" They were walking through the towering bronze doors of Starfall.

Arthur kept silent.

"I remember you, me and Elia playing in the Water Gardens, splashing in the water followed by howls of laughter. Then after Ashara joined us. It looks ages ago now" The Dornish Prince said as they walked side by side with his paramour Ellaria Sand trailing behind closely followed by two Dornish guards. "We used to build a sand castle with great spike that resembled the Spear Tower of old palace"

"Prince Doran used to watch us sometimes when he came to visit your lady mother" Arthur recalled the memories.

"Oh, yes, my brother recently left Sunspear for the peace and isolation of the Water Gardens. He send his sympathies to House Dayne for your loss"

"Oh" Arthur uttered. He knew not why Prince Doran had left Sunspear or who now rules in his stead.

"I and Princess Arrianne, my niece, we attend the courts at Sunspear now" The prince quickly said upon his questioning look.

They were walking towards the stairs of Palestone Sword tower now.

Arthur summarised Oberyn was given the chambers of the Palestone tower as it befits a Prince.

"Come join us" The Prince beckoned him inside.

It was a rounded room, where the light of the afternoon was slanting down through thick windows.

"Are you hungry, Ser?“ The Prince offered the fruits at the table.

Arthur politely shook his head. "I am not, my Prince"

The Prince poured wine in three cups and offered him one. Arthur took it.

"But I am. I have hungered for a long time" The Prince said in a sharp voice, "though not for food but for justice" _Gods, here we go_

"I am deeply sorry, my Prince for your losses. I failed Princess Elia and her children" Arthur admitted,his voice thick with sorrow.

"You did fail, Arthur" The Prince agreed "but spare me your failures. I came here not to hear how sorry you are" _Then I wonder why_

"Why?" The Prince questioned him, "Why did you abandon Elia and the royal children?“

Arthur was shaken from up to down his body.

"We were ordered by Prince Rhaegar elsewhere" Arthur answered in solemn voice,

The name of Rhaegar changed his demeanor and brought barely suppressed anger in his dark eyes.

"Ah, yes, the beautiful noble Rhaegar Targaryen, ran away with another woman" The Prince sneered.

"Pray tell me, doesn't a Kingsguard protect his King?“

" Aye but I… " Prince Oberyn interrupted him.

"You served the King well as it was befitting you and then you turned on him and the royal family " The Prince accused him.

Arthur and Oberyn were gazing at each other eye to eye. Only Ellaria Sand was present there.

"I was a Kingsguard to a King, however mad he was, but I served Prince Rhaegar " _And now his son_

"And now the Starks" The Prince spat the word.

"No, I do not," Arthur denied.

The Prince snorted. "I heard how you let Eddard Stark live though he was major rebel lords"

"Eddard Stark was the blood of my nephew and he promised the boy's lady mother on her death bed to raise him" Arthur said with his head down.

"Why did you go to the North, then?" The Prince asked, taking a sip of his wine.

"My lord father angered at my failure of defending Prince Rhaegar would not welcome me back home" The Prince chuckled darkly at that.

"That sounds like Lord Dayne"

Arthur agreed with a subtle nod and continued "I could not, would not, join the Kingsguard of Robert so I went with my nephew"

The Prince hummed. "Why not Dragonstone?"

He took a long twig of his wine, the taste was sour in his tongue, and answered,

"Stannis was already on the move and my brothers were also slain"

"Would that you were given another opportunity to serve House Targaryen would you do so?" The Prince asked him narrowing his eyes.

That picked Arthur's interest. _Did he know where the rest of Targaryens are residing?_

Prince Oberyn was giving him a curious look.

"I don't know, my Prince. I am but a one man, how could I possibly help?"

"You sell yourself short, Arthur. Everyone in the seven kingdoms knows of your skills with a sword"

"Might I ask where are you going next or are you planning to stay here after Lord Dayne's passing?" The Prince asked, "Or, going back to that frozen wasteland living like a Stark's dog?“

Arthur was blazed now " I am not the Starks' dog. We are sailing to free cities living as sellsword“

"We?“ The Prince raised brows at him,

"Me and my nephew"

"Ah, yes that pretty bastard with a sharp tongue. I have to say he looks as pretty as my daughters" _Rhaegar was also like that. Gods, he is getting closer_

"So to the free cities then?“

Arthur nodded. He stood up from his chair.  
"I shall return to my chamber now, my Prince"

Arthur turned and strode towards the door but the Prince spoke again,

"My brother is not a bloodthirsty man but you know I am," Arthur was hesitant to reply.

Seeing Arthur's hesitation the Prince pressed further "You know me, Arthur, do you not?“

 _Do I?_ How well though? Arthur knew the man very well. His reputation was fearsome to be sure. When he was no more than sixteen, Prince Oberyn had been caught abed with the paramour of old Lord Edgar Yronwood. _Oberyn always had a large appetite_. Arthur recalled Lord Yronwood, a huge man of fierce repute and short temper. A duel was then befallen,though in view of the prince's youth and high noble birth, it was only first blood. Both men took cuts, and honor was satisfied. Yet Oberyn soon recovered but Lord Yronwood did not. The wounds festered and killed him. Afterwards, men whispered that Oberyn had fought with a poisoned sword, _maybe he did_. Be that as it may, Oberyn was then called _The Red Viper_ by friends and foes alike.

That was many years ago. The boy of sixteen was now a man past forty but his legend had grown more darker. Arthur heard about how Oberyn had travelled in free cities learning a great deal of time about poisons and possibly dark magic. Arthur recited Oberyn had studied at Citadel, going so far as to forge six links of a maester's chain before he grew bored. He had fought in the Disputed Lands across the narrow sea, riding with the Second Sons for a time before forming his own company.

Oberyn even then was not shy of his sexual prowess. Arthur remembered how he had eyed Prince Rhaegar on their first meeting. The horror struck face of Rhaegar afterward when he was told Oberyn takes both men and women to bed was a sight to behold. He reminisced about him and Oswell guffawing at Prince Rhaegar's expense. _I can not ponder in the past,_ Arthur reminded himself.

"Aye, I do know you"

The Prince smiled at him but he knew it was anything but genuine and warm.

Arthur left the chamber and went looking for Daemon.

He found Jon beneath the green canopy of leaves, surrounded by tall redwoods and great old elms, kneeling before a heart tree, a slender weirwood with a face more sad than fierce. Ghost was beside him. It was naught like Winterfell's weirwood tree but it was a weirdwood nevertheless. _He is a follower of old gods._ Arthur have to admit albeit he was a follower of Seven, he had always felt the presence of something in godswood of Winterfell. The red eyes of the tree and the crypt scared him like none in Winterfell. It was like they were peering at him.

Ghost saw him approaching. The wolf gazed at him with those _red eyes_ so similar to the weirwood itself.

It would not do to disturb him at his prayers. So Arthur waited.

Arthur's thoughts went back to Oberyn. Arthur pondered why would the Prince offer him another chance to serve the Targaryens. Oberyn obviously would not have met the Targaryens across the Narrow Sea, otherwise he would have beyond any doubt met Ashara.

Arthur somewhere inside him knows they are surely up to something. _But what?_

"So?" Daemon's voice stopped his musings. Arthur saw him standing and giving him a questioning eye.

"The Prince was kind" Arthur said,

Daemon raised a skeptical brow. "He appeared to me anything but kind"

"He had always been like that"

"He just presented himself at the exact time as us."

"Aye, I believe he wanted answers"

"So I presume he is satisfied now?"

"To a certain extent" Arthur replied, Daemon groaned.

"So what is next for us?" Daemon asked him,

Cool wind crossed in his hair. The godswood was ghostly silence.

"Nothing changes" Arthur told him, "we sail to Volantis in a sennight"

Daemon gave him a weary nod and then went inside the castle.

The next morning after dawn broke. Arthur was hoping for a good day but Daemon just happened to ruin his day as usual.

Arthur cursed him. _Must he always invite problems._

Arthur heard from the guards that Daemon challenged Prince Oberyn in a spar.

Arthur rushed to the courtyard. He saw Daemon and Oberyn talking. Arthur got closer.

"This is a game for children, bastard"

"I would grow tired of whacking at Starks' bastard with a play sword"

"Are you afraid to spar with a bastard, then?"

"Oh, very much" The Prince jested. "You are so strong" Laugh drew from guards around.

Daemon frowned"What are you suggesting then?"

"Live Steel"

"How about our first blood?" Daemon offered instead. _No.no, no. Damn you._

"Marvelous" The Prince smiled.

Arthur could only watch now.

"We are fond of spears here in Dorne" The Prince explained.

"I can tell," Daemon said flexing his arms.

The spear must be eight feet long. Arthur studied. The shaft is smooth, thick and heavy. The last two feet was that of steel: a slender leaf-shaped spearhead narrowing to a wicked spike. Fear slithered inside Arthur's heart. _Had he poisoned it?_ Arthur hurriedly moved to take the spear.

"Ser Arthur, see you do not touch it" Oberyn cautioned him.

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the Prince. _I won't let him do this_.

The Prince then laughed "No it's not poisonous, if that is what you are thinking right now."

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. Daemon was also studying the Prince with a scowl flashed in his pretty face

"It is just a spar" Prince Oberyn told him carelessly, "to teach a greenboy how Dornish fights"

"If so then, you forgot, I had been taught the arts of swordplay by a Dornish" Daemon rebuked.

"Not by a spear though, I fear" The Prince countered back.

Daemon shrugged his shoulder and went to the main yard and Oberyn followed him. Men and women were eagerly waiting for the spar. Yard was packed with onlookers. More people were watching from the stable doors, ladies from balcony and windows as such they were throwing lustful gazes at Daemon or Oberyn or both Arthur could not tell.

Arthur caught the sight of his sister and nephew. He also saw Gerold Dayne frowning for whatever reasons that maybe.

The Red Viper was lightly armored in steel codpiece,clad in leather and flowing skills with all flamboyant for the world to see.

If the Red Viper was in his fine silks, then Daemon Targaryen was in all dark from chest to toe. His beaten golden ringlets shimmering in the sunlight. Black sleeveless chest leather armor with curious front and back, and two bracers made of curved plates and strips of leather. A tight black breeches and boots to pair with the vest making a sharp contrast to his pale unblemished skin. He carried himself with a swagger that could emulate the Red Viper himself.

Oberyn started rotating his spear. Daemon positioned himself with a longsword in his left and a shield in his right.

And, so the sparring began.

They were circling each other. "Have Arthur really told you who I am?“ The Prince's voice echoed.

"I care not who you are" His King replied back, _He is matching Oberyn's arrogance with his own_. Arthur mused.

"Then, you better" With that the Prince lashed out at him.

Oberyn's long spear jabbed, but Daemon took the point on his shield and shoved it aside. The spear darted forward. Daemon slashed at it. The prince again and again thrusted his spear, advancing forward Daemon started tumbling backwards, sometimes blocking with his shield or avoiding the spear. He partied with his sword to keep himself safe but to have any chance of winning the bout he has to close with his opponent but Oberyn outreaches him here. Arthur reflected.

They continued to dance with swords and spears. Every thrust Oberyn pushes, Daemon returns with one of his own strikes swinging his sword. Daemon took the guard and raised his shield. Oberyn raised his spear high in the air and suddenly pulled down striking Daemon's face with a thrust between the weapons. Daemon blocked it with his shield on pure instincts.

"Ha, nearly got you Snow" The Prince cried with excitement sounding in his voice.

"Aye, nearly, not yet completely" Daemon shouted back.

Daemon quickly and rather viciously went towards Oberyn that even startled the Prince. He struck high and low in an incredible speed, blocking thrusts with his shield and pushed the Prince backwards that sent Oberyn reeling. Daemon followed, bellowing.

Daemon's longsword flashed like lightning and found the gap joint under Prince's arm. The sword punched through the leather clad and steel codpiece sending Prince Oberyn to the ground in a thud. His spear went flying from his hand. The crowd gasped. _He had always been a prodigy with a sword._ Arthur recited.

Just so Daemon was about to end the bout, Prince Oberyn out of nowhere stood up acrobatically. The crowd cheered. He asked for another spear and Ser Daemon Sand threw at him which he caught in the air.

Jon beat his sword at the shield. _Clang, Clang, Clang_. "Green boy, huh?" He yelled.

Oberyn spinned his spear. Twirling around his body.

"They say, you are the best in Dorne, I dare not think what you Dornish are made of. A single northernmen would could least cut down seven of your lots" Daemon said now provoking the crowd. The crowd yelled curses at him. _Damnation, why would not he keep his damn mouth shut?_

The Prince also seems somewhat infuriated. _He is enraging the Prince._ Arthur realized. That may not be best against the Red Viper. Arthur hoped to be proven wrong. They went to parry the spear with a sword. It went on that way for what seemed like hours. Back and forth they danced across the yard with the song of metals clanging.

All around the yard, spectators were creeping in the two combatants, edging forward inch by inch to get a better view.

After many engagements and parties, Oberyn struck Jon at his shoulder with a strong cut dripping some blood whilst retreating as quickly as a cat. He then quickly rotated his spear then pointed the sharp edge towards Daemon. Arthur could tell Daemon was more frustrated and even annoyed than feared about losing and spear angling at his face.

"I yield," Daemon said with miffed tone lacing in his voice. The onlookers roared. No doubt proud of their Red Viper's victory. _He fared better._

Hours later Arthur finds himself in Daemon's chamber. The maester had already tended his wounds. Arthur wanted to lash out at Daemon for being stupid and challenge Prince Oberyn to spar but he did not.

He brought Arbor Gold and poured in two cups and served him one. The dark purple wine filling the cups. Daemon took the cup eagerly and drank.

"That was stupid" Arthur told him, taking a sip.

"I can tell," Daemon said rolling his eyes, "I was sparring with Ser Pisswater then he came forth and insulted saying northerners are no match for Dornish, even though I was beating the shit out of Pisswater, a fucking Stoney Dornish he was"

_He was not Oberyn_

"Were you surprised that I dare challenge him?“

"I have known you for all your life, I would have been surprised if you didn't challenge him"

.

They both shared a chuckle at that. Suddenly the door opened and inside came Prince Oberyn and his paramour. _He never seems to leave her_

Oberyn wore silk and satin robes with jeweled belts and flowing sleeves. His paramour in a gown of blue silk. That had little left to imagine.

"What in the seven hells is that thing?“ Prince Oberyn asked aghast at the sight of Ghost and his majestic red eyes.

"My direwolf," Daemon answered, smirking, "Ghost to me" The direwolf obeyed and moved towards Daemon who was sitting in his bed sipping Arbor gold.

"Such a beautiful creature" The Prince exclaimed "How come I fail to notice this?“

The Prince crouched down nearing them to touch the wolf.

Ghost backed away a little from him uncertainty. The direwolf was growing bigger everyday. Already the size of a dog now.

The Prince laughed. "I believe I've frightened your wolf, my apologies"

"Is that what you think so?“ Daemon smirked at the Prince.

"Sit, Ghost" He commanded, "That's it, keep still" He looked up at the Prince "You can touch him now. He won't move so long as I tell him to. You see, I have been training him" Arthur unfolded the scene with wary eyes

The Prince again bent to touch the wolf but this time the wolf lashed out at the Prince. Arthur gasped and Ellaria shrieked. Suddenly the two guards bearing the coat-at-arms of House Martell strode inside with spear pointing.

Ghost was a top Oberyn. Daemon started to laugh aloud. Arthur glanced at him. _Is he mad?_

"Ghost to me" He commanded and the wolf was back to its master.

"I believe my wolf have frightened you, my apologies" Daemon japed. "Unbowed, Unbent and Unbroken" Daemon echoed the words of House Nymeros Martell chuckling and looking at the fallen Prince.

"My Prince, give us order" One of the guards said pointing spear at Daemon,

Arthur went for the hilt of his own sword.

"No" The Prince said amused, "the bastard had me there"

"True as it happens" Daemon assured taking another sip of his wine. _I should not have given him the wine._ Arthur chastised himself.

"Is it Dornish wine you are drinking?“ The Prince asked, seemingly already forgotten the affront.

Daemon shook his head, "From the Arbor, I believe"

Arthur filled two more cups and served Prince Oberyn and Lady Ellaria.

The Prince took a twig of his wine and immediately grimaced. "I will send you up some strong Dornish wine"

"I would rather prefer a Dornish wench in my bed, you know a good fuck after a good fight" Daemon said eyeing Ellaria Sand. _Damn him_

Ellaria was not shying though. She was equally gazing at Daemon with lustful eyes.

The Prince smiled, "Have I told you before you got a sharp tongue"

"I recall yesterday"

"Do all bastards in the North have tongues like yours? Someone is going cut it someday, better keep you arrogance to yourself"

"You are not the first to tell me sort like that but I just can't help but wonder ' _how dare you assume I should think less of myself_ '? "

Prince Oberyn laughed. So did Ellaria.

"You did fought well. Pushed me to the limit" The Prince admitted.

Daemon shrugged his shoulder nonchalantly.

The Prince turned towards him now.

"Ser Arthur Dayne, Sunspear would be most honoured to have the presence of a warrior as renowned as you" The Prince expressed raising his hand.

"My Prince, I.. " Arthur struggled to respond.

"The Dorne have misjudged you greatly. They call you traitor, Ser. Do you not plan to correct the wrongs that have befallen on you?"

Arthur's throat went dry.

"Come to Sunspear, we shall host you with a feast" The Prince declared.

"How kind of you," Daemon scoffed, "And announce that he is no traitor, correct?" He further quipped. _Seven, help me_

The Prince took no offence in that.

"You and your nephew are going to free cities as I recall you said to me the day before?"

To that Arthur nodded.

"Then depart from Starfall" Prince Oberyn was trying to convince. "Allow me to acquaint you to Sunspear and from then I shall provide you the ship to depart wherever you wish"

It was a tempting offer. Arthur pondered. They sure need allies and Dornish are welcomed if only the Prince standing in front of him would.

"Do not disparage yourself, Arthur, be proud of yourself and come with us" The Prince insisted.

Daemon snorted at that. "Proud?“

"Why, yes, when pride and presumption walk before, shame and loss follow very closely" Prince Oberyn mocked Daemon or him, Arthur could not tell.

Daemon smirked then "Is this your generosity or your pride then, _my Prince_?" Jon mocked back with a courtesy.

Prince Oberyn grunted but Arthur could see he was amused "Generosity, my _lord Snow_ , is giving more than you can whilst pride is taking less than you need. You say which one it is?"

Daemon grinned then. His purple eyes were unearthly sparkling. "A proud man is always looking down on things and people; and, of course, so long as you are looking down, you can not look something above you, now can you Prince?"

_Pride must die in you, Daemon, or naught of heaven can live in you_

"There is but naught above the Sun" The Prince declared. _Maybe a Dragon?_

Daemon kept his lips pursed and Arthur was thankful for that.

"So I assume you are coming with us?“ Prince Oberyn quipped glancing at him and Daemon.

Daemon sighed. "I believe we have but no choice other than to go with him, don't you think Uncle?“

Arthur wanted to refuse but he knows he can not.

"Aye, Jon, I am afraid you are right" Arthur said,

Prince Oberyn grinned at them. He pulled his paramour by waist and kissed her right in front of them. Daemon puffed."Ellaria, the Sword of the Morning and his bastard nephew are coming with us"

"Yes, love. I can see" The lady spoke with enthusiasm

Arthur could only pray to the Seven the journey would be pleasant. _Gods, help us_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That Starfall looked damn good. Found somewhere in Google.


	13. Jon VIII

Jon found himself in the godswood moving silently beneath green sentinels and gnarled oaks. The godswood was not of Starfall but _Winterfell_. The godswood was _dark_. The oak trees withering at the small humid and shrinking back in the form of the heart tree. He could feel the crackling of fallen leaves, thick roots and hard stones. He stood in front of the weirwood tree. It's face ablaze and more fierce than Jon had ever noticed in Winterfell. For a moment, Jon could feel the cold sweat raining in his forehead.

He began to kneel in front of the fiery heart tree. He could hear the rustling of leaves. All of a sudden, the ground started to quake. Jon was aghast. The weirwood branches started quivering. Jon tried to stand on his feet but he failed.

Darkness covered him abruptly.

 _Run_ , a voice whispered in the darkness. Without any consent, he ran. Jon knew not which direction he was heading. Was this a dream or real. He just ran and ran. It seems as though he had been running for years. _Fly, fly, fly._ The voice was high and thin low, and echoed the words. Jon saw a light shimmering in the darkness. He ran towards the source of light. He ran as fast as he could. It seems to Jon that the light was moving far from him the more he ran, just out of reach.

 _Snow, Snow, Snow_ a crow shrieked. Jon didn't know how but suddenly he saw a crow was soaring down at him.

"Who are you?" Jon demanded.

 _Who are you?_ The crow repeated, flapping it's dark wings.

"Jon Snow"

 _Are you?_ the bird asked.

"It's naught but a dream" Jon blurted, assuring himself.

 _Is it?_ asked the crow.

"Aye, I'll wake up" Jon told the bird.

A crow can not talk. Jon convinced himself.

 _But I am talking_. The crow squealed.

Jon blinked. The crow can read inside his head?

 _Fly. Dragons can fly._ The bird cried.

On the spur of a moment, Jon was floating in the skies. Faint and far away the light burned, low on horizon, shining through the sea mists. The world looked strange upside down. Jon wondered this could be heaven or this could be hell. The feeling was ecstatic. He had seldom felt anything such as this. He felt like he had traveled dawn to dusk already. He could see mountains and deserts, rivers and large seas.

Jon could see a large city surrounded by thick walls. Poor settlements were outside the city. Inside the city he looked at the small inns and holdfast and crowded market towns.

He spotted a big white marble structure with seven crystal towers on top of a large hill. Large gardens surrounded the place. _Great Sept of Baelor,_ Jon guessed. So the place is Kingslanding.

Jon noticed another large structure made of black marble, a warren of twist and turns whilst streaming in the air.

He flapped his wings and moved straight further. The roads were broad, lined with trees and branching alleys and streets.

Jon saw a scary and ruined structure that sits atop another hill. _The Dragonpit and the hill of Rhaenys._ Jon realized. The place looked haunting. Ser Arthur had told him about the place as such.

Turning right, Jon regarded what must be the poorest and dirtiest place he had ever seen. It was a down-trodden area of the city. Stench of pigsties, stables, pot shops and whorehouse were seen. Women and children half-naked running the streets. Men were begging for food. Jon felt disgusted seeing that. _Flea Bottom_.

Then Jon caught the sight of it. Atop a large hill, _Aegon's Hill_ , a castle made of pale red stone looming ahead. _Red Keep_. Jon was awestruck by the castle. The castle was smaller than Winterfell, Jon observed. He gazed at the seven massive drum towers crowned with iron ramparts. Jon proceeded to go inside the castle passing the walls that have large bronze iron gates, with narrow poster doors nearby. The castle was empty. Not a single soul he could see. Behind the walls he saw yards, halls, bridges, kennels, granaries and stables. He looked at the huge square-shaped fortress inside the heart of the Keep. _Maegor's Holdfast_. Ser Arthur had told him the place where the royal apartment is located. Jon then went inside a chamber where the door was guarded by what looks like two smokey creatures smoldering in black marble faces with eyes of polished garnets. Inside the chamber, Jon peered at the large richly furnished table accompanied by chairs.

Lastly, Jon behold the sight of the _Iron Throne_ raised on iron dias with high and narrow steps. It was inside the biggest chamber Jon had ever seen. A long carpet was spaned from the Iron throne to the large door of the room. Jon gazed at the official seat of the King of the seven kingdoms. His heart was pounding heavy. His throat went dry. It was _monstrous_ and _beautiful_ at the same time. _Cold_ and _hard_ , the chair of spikes, many jagged edges and twisted metal.

It is widely known, the Iron Throne was constructed by Aegon the Dragon from the thousands melted, beaten, twisted and broken blades surrendered by his enemies. Jon doubted it was made from thousand swords but it was indeed the symbol of the _conquest._

The crypt of Winterfell always gazed at him with their cold hard eyes screaming _You don't belong here._ The Iron Throne howbeit scary it might be, Jon sensed it was calling him. _Daemon Targaryen._ Jon caught in the drift that it was whispering his real name. _I am going mad._

Jon warily approached near the throne. Just as Jon climbed the steep stoney steps and was proceeding to climb the steps of the throne. It disappeared.

Jon was streaming in the blue again.

In a flash of darkness, Jon saw Winterfell. He was flying at top. The wintertown looked queer as he gazed down from the air. The large two massive grey walls of the castle came into view. Jon was gladden to see Winterfell again. Truth be told, he had missed Robb, Arya, Bran, Rickon and even his uncle very much so. He had missed the household of Winterfell, wolfswood, wintertown and it's whores. He missed the godswood as well. He seldom missed Lady Catelyn or Sansa or the crypt though.

Suddenly, the hot air that he had felt ever since he sailed across Narrow Sea and his time in Dorne, the smell of summer was all but gone and he felt the familiar cold of the North filling him inside.

Jon peered at the Northern gate, the walls, the Great Keep and courtyards where he oft sparred with Ser Arthur and later beat the shit out of Robb. This brought a smile to his face.

Then Jon saw something that frozen him to his bones. He looked in horror as Bran fell from the broken tower of Winterfell into the empty air. He cried his brother's name but he could do naught but watch.

Again in a flash, he was somewhere else. _Somewhere colder._ Jon peered at the Stronghold that looked in a poor condition dwelling of several stone towers and timber Keeps and behind it loomed a large massive ice barrier. _The Wall._

It is Castle Black. Jon pondered. The place where Jon once thought to join. Now looking at the place and feeling cold winds humming in the air. Jon decided he made the right choice. Bastard or not. None should be freezing in a place like this.

Jon feasted his eyes up at the Wall. Swirling along the cold winds, Jon floated a little higher than the Wall itself. He sized up the Wall for what seemed like eternity. It seemed to Jon almost a living being, with a mood of its own. The color of the ice was changing with every shift of the sunlight. Now it was deep blue of frozen _rivers_ , then the dirty white of old _snow_ , and when clouds passed before the sun it darkened to pale _grey-green_ of stone. The Wall stretched from east to west as far as his eyes could muster. It was the end of the world. Jon thought.

 _Is it?_ The crow cried in his ugly voice. Jon suddenly got weary. He had all but forgotten about the damn crow.

Jon found himself flying beyond the Wall. In an instant, he felt a terrible shrink of excitement and fear built inside him. Beyond the Wall the home of Wildlings, grumpkins and snarks. Jon mused.

Just beyond the Wall, Jon saw the biggest weirwood tree or any tree he had ever seen. The trunk was nearly 8 feet wide, the branches spreading so far that four tumbledown stone houses nearby were loomed by its pale limbs and dark red leaves. _It was monstrous. Small wonder men feared them._ Jon reflected looking at the face of the weirwood.

He took wings in the thick of the forest. Jon noted the ilk of trees. Ash, oak trees, soldier pine, ironwood, chestnuts and broadleaf. All of the trees were bent and twisted due to the ice they carried.

Snowflakes, wet and heavy, were swirling in the velvet sky. The air was cold and sharp.

He swooped through woods of oaks and towering _grey-green_ sentinels past gloomy soldier pines and bare brown chestnuts.

He saw a little girl carrying a torch in her hand coming out of a cave. For a moment, Jon thought it was his little sister Arya or had he finally reached the light that was shimmering in the darkness earlier? He swooped closer and closer towards the caves.

The girl was not Arya. She was smaller than Arya. The skin of the girl flecked like a doe's beneath a cloak of leaves. Her eyes were wild. Large and liquid, gold and green, furrowed like a cat's eyes. Her hair, embroil of brown, red and gold hunting like plants and branches and shriveled flowers woven through it. It looked like autumn colors to Jon. _As wild as winter._ Jon fancied.

 _Fire is always hungry, Daemon Targaryen._ The beautiful child said staring at him overhead. Her eyes unblinking.

Jon was aghast and astound. Her voice was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard. High and sweet, it was, like music to his ears but Jon could feel sadness lining in the melody. Far better than the bards songs. It was as sweet as the clang of swords and luscious as thoroughly fucked women. He was enthralled yet terrified. For all his dreams, he'd never encounter anyone that talked to him. It was only that ugly crow. She could see him and knew who he was.

Something inside his mind told him the being standing in front of him was _the Children of Forest_ of Old Nan's mythical tales.

"As small as children but dark and beautiful, they lived in a manner we might call crude today" Old Nan had told him, Jon could see how perfectly her tales matched with the child peering her beautiful eyes at him.

Jon wanted to ask who see was or why was he dreaming all this. But, his mouth won't open. Not a single word would he utter.

There and then, a cloud of crows poured from the cave. The scores of raven startled him. Jon on a dime closed his eyes, shut.

The next moment he opened his eyes, he was elsewhere. The place was different. There was no cave, not that strange child or the crows but only snow and woods.

Jon could feel the power in this edge of the known world. He could _smell_ it.

The rivers were frozen, and the grass was white with hoar-frost. Jon went on to look at the frozen ashores with a frown.

This was altogether a different world. Jon reflected. These northern lands were wild and untamed. The lands were harsh and people harsher. It was one thing Jon had heard all his life in Winterfell. But this was entirely otherworldly. It was only cold and barren lands. There were no buildings, no settlements naught but ice, rock, trees and snows. _Winter_ and _darkness._

There was an edge to the darkness that made him unease. The cold wind was so unforgiving. It made the trees rustled like living things. The only sound he could hear was the howling of cold winds otherwise it was deathly silence. Jon wondered what this part of his dream meant.

Jon was soaring in the air, still. Yet, he felt despite himself someone or something was watching him. Jon turned his head sideways as far as his eyes could see it was naught but only _snow_. A cold wind whispered beneath the trees.

From high in the air, Jon saw pale shapes gliding through the forest. He turned his head downward and glanced at the white shadow in the darkness. A reflection on the snow. Jon tried to move a little closer to the shadow to get a proper glimpse but it went in vain. The shadow was all but gone. Yet, the cold remain all the same.

It was shivering cold now. It made him frenzy.

The shadow again emerged from the dark woods of the forest below. Jon in an instant flew downwards now. He then caught the sight of the shadow. It was tall, fair, slender, gaunt and looked hard as old bones. Its skin paler than anybody's he had ever seen. As pale as the moonlight, more paler than white milk. It was nigh reflective.

It's armor made a show of change in color as it moved. Here it was white as new fallen _snow_ , there as black as _shadow_ , everywhere flecked with sunk _grey-green_ of the shrub. Jon grasped that the white shadow was remarkably like the Wall itself; wavering hue as light hit them. _The shade of light and shadow._

Its eyes were _blue_. So deep blue. Inhumane blue. _No one has eyes like that._ As _beautiful_ as _cold_ it was. Jon breathed agape. His mouth twitched in disbelief.

 _The Others_. His breath caught in a hitch. He gazed at the sight of the Others in their otherworldly beauty.

The White Walker slid forward on a silent march. Jon observed the inhuman being left no footprints to mark as he passed. He noticed a longsword in its hand. The longsword was unlike any he had seen before. It was no human metal. Jon concluded. The sword itself seems alive. It was translucent, a shard of crystal so thin that it looked almost non existent at once, if not for the faint blue shimmering ghost lights around its edges. The longsword appeared even more magnificent than the valyrian steel sword Ice of Starks and Ser Arthur Dayne's sword Dawn. Jon realized this sword possessed by the Other puts both the swords to shame.

Jon wondered wherever it were the Old Gods gazing at the sight of the White Walker. Such as it is the _Ice_ made flesh. If not the Old Gods then it sure is the Cold Gods. Jon mused, shivering. The inhuman thing certainly looks the closest thing to the gods as it were nigh a demon.

Jon always thought as a child, the ghosts of the Others wander in the crypt of Winterfell. It was a silly notion but now peering at the Others. Jon knew not what to make of this. _Was this dream all his imagination?_

Jon initially failed to notice the other shadows. They emerged silently from the shade. One, two, three, four, five….

He felt as though the world was holding its breath, and the silence made him freeze.

Jon was shaking now.

 _Run, run, run._ cried the bird.

But Jon was frozen. He could not move and could not utter anything. _Fly_. The bird was again squealing.

Amidst the cold howling of winds, the sight of the Others and the cry of the crow, his mind was getting numb. His head felt hard and the vision were swirling.

Slowly Jon was fading into the darkness. He wanted nothing more than to wake up from this terrible dream but try as he might, he just couldn't.

Again, he felt cool breeze air hitting his face. The stinging crisp was down the drain. Jon could sense the stink of sultriness.

But it was not the smell of summer.

There was no smell of steam or coast. Only smoke and sea.

His skin flushed.

Jon opened his eyes haltingly. No sooner had he opened his eyes he regretted it.

High in the summer azure, Jon saw the red dragon looming beyond the towers up in the heavens.

The dragon was shading the light of the day.

"There's naught above the Sun" The Dornish Prince had said yesterday, it felt like moons already. _Would that he was here to view the sight._

. 

Then, all of a sudden dragon lay its blood eyes on him, piercing his very soul.

Smokes were swirling through its nostrils. Jon gulped.

 _Fire_ made flesh. Jon gazed at the beast in wonder.

Its flesh is as red as blood. It's scales were magenta red, horns and spilar plates blood red. Eyes shining like rubies. _Ghost_. The dragon's orbs were the same shade that of Ghost. Like the weirwood he saw.

Jon attempted to reach closer to the dragon despite himself.

 _A dragon can fly_.

 _I am the blood of the dragon_.

_A dragon can fly._

The words were repeating inside his head like a mantra.

Jon rose higher. The dragon was monstrous to look at.

 _No, no, no._ The crow was crying somewhere but Jon would have none of it.

 _I need to see the dragon._ Jon reminded himself.

 _A dragon can fly._ It told me as much.

He flew closer and closer. Jon grasped then they were somewhere soaring above some sea.

The winds were warm and salty.

He got nearer and nearer to the dragon. His mind was capturing naught but the red beast ahead of him.

No sooner Jon got way closer the dragon roared abruptly.

He opened his mouth and Jon saw the flames from its mouth.

 _It would burst in the sky._ Jon assured himself recalling the last dream. But he was wrong.

All at once he was showered with red-orange flames. Jon screamed. He absorbed the heat in the air. For a moment, all that Jon could look was the crimson-orange flames flickering across his body. He was ablazed. It seems to Jon the flames were dancing. He felt relaxed and calm. He felt _home_. AND, then it _brunt_ , his skin scalded. Jon screamed in agony.

Jon in sudden rose from his dream. His body was not bathed in flames but sweats. He was breathing quickly.

It took him a couple of minutes to get his mind straight. His head was terribly aching. The world around him dizzy.

The tales of grumpkins and snarks, giants and children of the forest, Others and dragons from Old Nan were always fun to listen to. Jon seldom pictured their faces and shapes but now Jon saw vividly. It felt so _real_.

Jon glanced across the room. Only the walls were staring back at him. Ghost was also not in the room. His eyes lingered across the balcony, here and there among the walls and windows before setting on the Arbor gold across his bed at table. He quickly rose half naked. He picked the bottle and started drinking.

As of late, he often dreamed of wolves, never anything like this. He had dreamt of Ghost before.  
He could understand them. Not literally but somehow as if they are singing in some languages he knows if he dig down deep. Other people might be scared of them but not him. For he was a Stark as much as he loathed being a Targaryen. Be that as it may, he is a Stark not by name but by blood. He have wolfs blood. Old Man told him as much. "Though it is stronger in you than your brother" She had warned him.

Jon oft had reflected the irony. He is more wolfsblooded than Robb but his wolf is as silent as the crypt of Winterfell or godswood. Yet Ghost was no less observant.

But he never dreamed something like this before.

Jon saw _Kingslanding._

_Iron Throne._

He caught a glimpse of _Bran_ falling.

_The Wall._

_Children of Forest._

_The Others._

_The red dragon._

His head was swirling and his heart was pounding hard.

 _A dragon can fly._ Jon remembered the words of the crow.

_Yes, and a dragon burned me._

_Fear cuts deeper than swords._ Lord Stark had told him in times past. Jon seldom implied what he meant aforetime but now he does. The dream brought fear inside him which made him tremble in panic in such a way that the cut he gained at his shoulders from Prince Oberyn didn't hold an edge.

For some reasons, he remembered the tales of Old Nan about dragons back at Winterfell "And King Harren the black learned that the thick walls and high towers are of small use against dragons" The tales about dragons always ended with "For dragons _fly_ ".

King Harren, Aegon the Conqueror and _Harrenhal_. The place where my sire and mother met. The place where everything began. _Best not dwell on the past._ Jon thought. He woke up from his bed before heading outside. His legs were shaking and weak.

Jon paused for a moment.

He called a servant to fetch him a bath.

Jon promptly took his bath and put on his clothes.  
A grey tunic, black breeches and a pair of black riding boots. He headed to meet the main hall.

Today he and Ser Arthur shall join Prince Oberyn and his paramour on their journey to Sunspear.

Jon found it odd why the Prince would invite them to his home. There was something about the Prince that didn't meet his eyes. Jon had to be weary about the man.

 _Bran_...Jon found it hard to ignore the dream. Only once, he has had dream something like this before, something so vivid and real, and it was past three years ago when he saw the same red dragon on the dark island.

Then just a couple of moons ago he gained a red dragon egg. _Could it be a warning?_ Jon wondered. If so then are the Others real? Would Bran fall? Would I hatch the egg? Worse, would the dragon burn me alive?

Jon felt something inside him stirred. He realized it was _dread_. Something that he hardly felt over the years he grew up. He hated this feeling.

.

For the entire dawn to dark, during their ride Jon's mood was on the edge. He failed to get the nightmare out of his head. The visions were recurring every now and then. If Ser Arthur had noticed his change in demeanour he didn't voice it. Jon was silently grateful for that. He want not to share his dreams with anyone. It was just….distraught.

They had rode the next day and the day after again and again they took the first ride on the back of their horses riding through the vast desert of red and white sands, forbidding mountains amidst sweltering heat and sandstorm.

They would eventually camp somewhere before perishing from hunger and thirst in these barren lands. Their Dornish companion didn't look much bothered by it. But Jon was livid. A fortnight ride exhausted him. It was only the Dornish red that kept him moving. Jon had preferred to get rather drunk in his entire journey.

Prince Oberyn had them ride to Sunspear by overland not sea. It was a cunning of the man. At the outset, Jon had guessed he wanted to test them on the Dornish heat but he failed to notice his true motives. Oberyn would make them stay in various noble castles of Dorne. They had already spent a short amount of time in Sandstone, the seat of House Qorgyle, House Uller of Hellholt, House Vaith of Red Dunes and House Allyrion of Godsgrace. Ser Arthur was not a welcome sight in those noble Houses and that unpleasant hospitality extended to him as well.

Hellholt was most challenging. Oberyn wanted to have a good deal of horseplay with them but Jon would have none of it. It could have been considered rude and unknightly of someone like Ser Arthur, a noble Knight, to step on the toes of their host but Jon was not someone like Ser Arthur. He was but a bastard in their eyes, an adversary's bastard more notably, with a direwolf his companion. Lord Harmen Uller, Lord of Hellholt and head of House Uller, who also happens to be father of Ellaria Sand, unlike Lord Quentyn Qorgyle or Lord Daemon Vaith or Lady Delonne Allyrion, was not hesitant to jab at them. The said Lord had referred Ser Arthur as a 'fake Knight and shame to Kingsguard' and bold enough to say Ser Arthur should have joined the Night's Watch much like his ancestor Vorian Dayne, the Sword of the Evening, one of the former captive Kings sent by Princess Nymeria in gold fetters to the Wall. He was also slighting and sneering at him. Everytime the dolt Lord degrades him, Jon would banter thrice, making a cut to the quick thus annoying Lord Uller upto no ends. The man was really furious at them...well him prominently but Jon could have cared less if the man was enraged by him. The presence of Ghost was helpful and he was part of the Prince's retinue nevertheless.

House Uller has a grim reputation as one would find in the entire seven kingdoms. Like far and wide in Dorne, element to water was crucial to survival and the Hellholt is found near the source of the river, Brimstone. Although the internal steam that comes from that river makes one not want to crouch down and drink it.

The Castle itself had been founded during the Andal invasion. Ser Arthur had told him as much about the place.

Prince Oberyn had warned him before entering the Castle about the history and brutality of Ullers which continues to this day.

"Paramount of the area, they might have been but they had many rivals. House Uller on one occasion had invited their rivals to a feast here at Hellholt. They arrived one after the other enjoying the offered hospitality and new raven of peace but then Lord Uller cut loose, he locked and sprint his Great Hall with all of his enemies inside and burned them alive"

Prince Oberyn also showed him the place where Meryaxes, the dragon of Rhaenys Targaryen was slayed. In the first Dornish war, the Targaryens had invaded Westeros, conquering lands from the Wall to the Old Town. When Rhaenys Targaryen circled over the skies of Hellholt bursting flames at them. The defenders of Hellholt answered back with arrows and massive bolts firing from their ballistas. One of the shots hit Meraxes on its eyes thus killing the dragon. The Lord Uller had boasted about it up to no ends.

"It is said that none knew the fates of Rhaenys Targaryen, the sister-wife of the Conqueror. Had she survived or not, nobody can tell but there are whispers in these halls, that Rhaenys Targaryen did survive but only to be raped and tortured mercilessly in the deep below Hellholt. A generation later the Young Dragon and the Dragonknight also learned that Hellholt is unforgiving."

Be that as it may, but the face of Prince Oberyn was comical to look at. Jon saw the anguish and melancholy lining in the Prince's features as Lord Uller chanted the fate of Rhaenys, the sister wife of Aegon. His own niece was named Rhaenys and his fake nephew Aegon. His sister Princess Elia was raped by Mountain. Jon felt pity at the man. The Prince wanted to make mockery out of him only to fall in his own trap.

The shine of the bright hot sun intoned with the clear sky. It was a very hot day. They had travelled for a fortnight now.

Jon observed most Dornish rivulets that they came across with were dry. Prince Oberyn had told him in all of Dorne, only three Rivers flow day and night, winter and summer, without even going dry.

The Torrentine rising from mountain springs, its water were sweet and pure, but dangerous to cross by, save by bridge, and rather impossible to navigate. The Brimstone for all that was a far more placid stream, but it's cloudy yellow waters stink of sulfur, and the plants that grow along its banks were strange and stunted things. But, Greenblood's waters, they are now galloping ashore its bank, as though sometimes muddy, Prince Oberyn claims to be helpful for plants and animals alike, farms and orchards. Jon wondered was there any farm in these boiling wastelands. White Knife river was more pure river than those three. Jon concluded.

Jon oft in his journey wondered what in the seven hells did the people see here in these hot, cruel, wastelands to make homes here. Near the banks of Greenbold Jon saw settlements. Before that he puzzled whether the people really live here or not.  
There was not a brisk flow of people.

Ghost loped ahead of them. Jon was very concerned about Ghost. The direwolves were the creatures of cold. He was worried the heat might bother Ghost too much but as of now Ghost was not showing any sign of trouble. Then again Ghost is not any ordinary wolf. _The runt of the litter._ Theon Greyjoy had called. Oh, how true he was.

Ghost had hurriedly splash in the Brimstone river past hellholt, much to his dismay, and in the Greenblood. The only thing the white wolf might be bristled about was haunting, Jon guessed. Ghost was now getting bigger and bigger everyday. Jon was sure the wolf could now haunt if his oft dreams had anything to say.

A wolf smells better than anything. They caught the scent of their prey and so would Jon.

The Dornish Prince mounted a stallion of dark brown with mane and tail the color of fire. His paramour bestride over red stallion. Ser Daemon Sand, the bastard of Godsgrace, was riding forth on top of a stallion nigh white as Ghost. The horses were the famed sand seeds. Considered the most beautiful horses in Seven Kingdoms. Jon reflected.Light-boned, swift and tireless. Prince Oberyn boasted they would be able to run through day and night with no more than a few drinks of water. Ser Arthur was galloping on top of his brown destrier with black mane and tail.

His own stallion _Shadow_ was not a destrier warhorse like that of Ser Arthur or a sand steed like Prince Oberyn's. But it was more like a coursers. Light, fast and strong.

Also, Shadow was the only horse who didn't fear Ghost. All of the other horses were uneasy at the sight of direwolf. Just like Ghost, Shadow was a winter creature as well. Not essentially but he had spent most of his days running in the snow coated fields of the North not these hot sands of Dorne but yet Shadow showed no less trouble than Ghost. He had trained them better.

Jon purred his horse across the wet sands muttering curses on the weather. Beside him, Ghost loped along easily and Ser Arthur was galloping his horse putting a murnur's face as though the heat was not unbearable to him at all. _Asshole_. Arthur had spent the last fourteen years in the frigid snow flurry of North. Born in Dorne he might be, Jon would wager the man is spitting handfuls of curses inside his thick skull.

Upon seeing his distress the Prince smirked. At this point, Jon would have done anything to see the man freeze his balls in the harsh cold of the North.

"Only a Dornishnen can ever truly know Dorne" The dimwit of a Prince boasted.

Jon rolled his eyes. "Then rub your Dornish asses on these damn hot sands. I don't plan to know your deserts"

" _Snow_ " The Prince called him, for a moment Jon imagined the crow was calling him again.

Jon turned sideways and glimpsed at the Prince.

"Is that the reason that you are Jon Snow and not Jon Sand?" asked The Prince. _How about a Targaryen?_

"Why, just so I didn't rub my ass in the _Red Mountains?_ " As soon as Jon said those words he regretted. _Fool_.

To the knowledge of people he was born in the castle of Starfall not the Red Mountains near the Starfall or the Prince's Pass.

The Prince gave him a curious look before chuckling.

"No, I mean are you Jon Snow and not Sand because you hate the heat of summer? After all you were born here in Dorne, at Starfall to be exact, were you not?"

Jon gulped. He didn't want to know what Arthur must be thinking right now beside him. The Prince was peering at him viciously with his dark eyes. Like a _Viper_ , ready to strike.

"So I have been told. I fear I remember not where I was born exactly as an infant. I don't think even you could remember things as a baby, can you?"

The Prince's face lit up with a smile. "My brother would like you"

"Why so?“ Jon was curious now, why would the ruling Prince of Dorne like him.

"He oft says to me 'Words are like arrows Oberyn. Once loosed, you can not call them back' and you have ways with your words like an elite archer, if I might say so"

Jon felt a tinge of disappointment. He had hoped the Prince would have liked for strong reasons so that maybe someday Dorne would allied with form and support his claim.

Prince Oberyn was studying him. Jon immediately schooled his face and smirked at him. "I'm pleased you think so even though, I am not an elite archer, I fear"

The Prince shruggep as if to say 'as you say'. He galloped his horse forward moving with the same pace as his.

"Bring me my bow of burning gold; bring me my arrow of desire; bring me my spear; O' clouds, unfold! bring me my chariot of _fire_ " The Prince sang.

The day was sultry, his pulses bounding and brows wet with sweats amidst the heat, the last thing he needed to hear was the Prince singing ridiculous like that.

"Careful now,be careful Prince. Fire is not a thing to play" Jon warned the Princeling, recalling the dragon fire that bathed him "for the brightest flame cast the darkest shadow"

"Oh, how poetic" The Prince mocked him,

If anything was poetic Jon would say it was the weather. The dust abounds, the winds scarcely drifting, the sun scalding.

Jon shrugged his shoulders "Poetic I might be, but not as gifted singer as you are though" _His voice is only good for seduction_. Jon thought.

"I got a better one then" The Prince declared "What is life? It is a flash of firefly in the night. It is the breath of buffalo in the Winter. It is the little shadow which runs across the green summer grass and loses itself in the sunset" His voice dark.

Jon blinked. Was it a mere coincidence that whatever this Prince utters from his filthy mouth always reminds him of the terrible dream. _No I am just imagining._ Jon remained hopeful.

"I see, you are quite acquainted with Winter. Allow me to say this, Prince, winter is death" Jon uttered darkly recalling the sight of Others, true or not "I don't know about your brother but death is like arrow that is already in flight, your life lasts only when it reaches you and this I vow"

The Prince, his paramour, Arthur and Daemon Sand all looked at him with weary eyes. _Good. Winter should be feared._

The Prince chuckled again. His black hair was all on end, his cheek was smudged with dirt and he appeared as happy as a baby in a sand pile. Jon was ablaze now.

"Tis a good thing then you are in Dorne then" Everyone laughed at that save Arthur. It infuriated Jon. His light golden hair hung like a loose mane from his head. Jon brushed his curls aside and galloped his horse to move forward. _Dornish cunts._

"Death is Winter, you say, Summer is life, I say" The Prince played "Men are men, vows are words and words are winds" _Winds of Winter_ The bone chilling winds beyond the wall was still fresh to him.

"Words are like swords and fear cuts deeper than swords, _my father_ , lord Stark told me" Jon emphasized the word 'father' as though he were proud being Lord Stark's bastard in hopes to remove the shadow of doubt that casted earlier.

"Fair enough" The Prince agreed. "Some men are like swords, made for fighting. Hang them up and they go to rust." _Will they?_ Jon didn't miss the intended jab on Ser Arthur. _Am I only made for fighting?_ Jon wondered.

"But I am not like some men," The Prince declared. _Neither am I._

Ser Arthur was silently galloping his horse forward ignoring the jabs thrown at him.

"Tell me Prince, are you afraid of one who hold swords or one who are bold with words then" Jon asked,

The Prince snorted as if he meant to say he fears none. "He who fears not the sword he wields is not worthy of wielding one"

"A sword by itself slays not, it is only the weapon used by the slayer" Jon countered, "I think the Kingslayer won't tell you any different" _Words are like swords and fear cuts deeper than swords._

Jon saw the smugness fade away from the Princling's face. He knew he hit the nerves by mentioning Kingslayer. _Don't play with the fire, would you?_

"When the swords are oft drawn, the passion of men observe no bounds of moderation, Lord Snow" Jon didn't miss the warning. _Threatening now, are you, my Prince._ Jon mused.

"Swords and words are alike, those who appeal to it, shall perished by it" Jon replied, not backing down.

Silence followed with the peaceful calm of sweltering summer noon in their entourage. He could hear the sounds of sizzling steam from hot sands. Jon gazed at those dark eyes barely containing the fury. His face looked more a bull than a viper but Jon would not bow before this Princeling.

"What about women, dear Jon?" Ellaria Sand, the Prince's paramour interrupted them. "Dorne and North may have warrior women but same could not be said about other Kingdoms"

Jon flashed her a seductive smile. "Why, dear Ellaria, women have beauty. Beauty is their power and a smile their sword"

Ellaria chuckled hearing that. "Are you talking about yourself?"

Ellaria was a good companion. Though a bit lewd she maybe. All along their run, Ellaria and Jon had a lot of time to wind. She loved to talk about Dorne. One of the fascinating tales she came across with was of Princess Nymeria of Rhoyne.

Whilst Rhoyne was conquered by Valyria, Princess Nymeria led Rhoyne to Dorne where she took Lord Mors Martell as one of her husbands. When Princess Nymeria came ashore in Dorne, most of her Rhoyne preferred to remain close to the sea that had been their home for so long, even as though Nymeria burned their ships.  
Jon didn't understand why in the name of old gods she had to burn those ten thousand ships though.

"She pulled through a dozen attempts on her life. Put down two rebellions and ended back to back consequent intrusions and at last when she died, her eldest child succeeded her, her daughter not her son and Dorne followed her because Dorne was Nymeria and Nymeria was Dorne" The women had said much to him. Jon saw it first hand at Godsgrace where Lady Delonne Allyrion ruled instead of her son Ser Ryon Allyrion, father of Ser Daemon Sand.

"Centuries later Aegon Targaryen sought to unite Westeros as Nymeria had Dorne. When his sister-wife Rhaenys flew her dragon South and demanded Dorne surrender. An eighty namedays Princess Meria Nymeros Martell warned ' _I will not fight you; nor will I kneel to you. Dorne has no king tell your brother that_ '. Rhaenys had threatened that the next time Targaryens would come with fire and blood. To that Meria replied ' _you may burn us my lady, but you will not bend us, break us, or make us bow. This is Dorne and you are wanted here. Return at your peril._ ' Rhaenys did return and died. Her dragon died and all her soldiers died. Eventually her brother, the conqueror, conceded that what Nymeria had he could not undo. Generations later another foolish Targaryen invaded Dorne and he also died as well. Eventually we joined the seven kingdoms but when we wanted to and on our terms'' Ellaria had told him during their camp. Jon loved hearing her tales, sipping Dornish Red. _It sounds more fascinating from her mouth than Ser Arthur's._ Jon regarded her as very passionate women. She was proud of her heritage.

Jon had the grace to blush. "Would that every women were like you"

Even in such sweltering day, sultry work had to be done, as in winter.

"You haven't seen the true beauty of Dorne yet, Jon. Be wary of what you are carving" Ellaria warned with her seductive tone. Jon was getting really hard now. It has been long since he had been inside women.

Following Greenblood downstream they at last reached its mouth where it opens into summer sea. Riding ashore it's banks so they had the cool fresh breeze to soothe them as the beat of the sun above and the swelter of dust below was already overwhelming them for much of their ride. They arrived at a port city, the Planky Town. He was rejoiced upon seeing someplace to halt.

This was the only settlement at the mouth of Greenblood that mayhaps be nearest things to a true city in Dorne that Jon had come across.

Jon noticed the place has a harbor that sees trading vessels. 

Standing apart from the rest of Dornish, be it salty, stony or sandy alike, were the orphans of the Greenblood.

Jon asked why are they different from other Dornish.

"They wept when Nymeria burned their ships," replied Ellaria.

"Why?“ asked Jon, dumbfounded, a while ago he was himself thinking why had Nymeria burned the ships,

"From their ruins they made their polebots, to ply the Greenblood and dream of the day they could return to Mother Rhoyne" Prince Oberyn told him,

Jon was aghast when he was told by Ser Arthur that this was the only harboring port in Dorne and that they would sail across the Narrow Sea from here. The orphans of the Greenblood trade merchants from across the Narrow Sea at the Planky Town.

.

Riding north hard for the entire day they had finally gazed at the sight of the Old Palace. It looked bigger than Winterfell from afar.

First a slender tower came into view. A hundred and half feet it was. The Prince described. The Spear tower. It was crowned with the spear of gilded steel adding another thirty feet.

"The tower is used to house noble prisoners" The Prince told him.

Jon was puzzled. How the view would look from up there. It certainly won't be as distraught as Winterfell's prison.

Then came the second tower; the Tower of Sun. With its dome of gold and leaded glass, the tower looked something like a monstrous dromond that had washed ashore and turned into stone.  
The Prince told him it was the place where the throne room is held.

_The Sun and the Spear. Very symbolic, it appears._

As they approached near, Jon saw the sigil of Sun and Spear painted on the silks of every Dornish guardsmen. Just like some of the guards on their entourage. Jon noticed the sigils are painted on silks and not sewn.

They approach Sunspear on a spit of land. The settlement itself is on a low peninsula bordered on three sides by water. High walls surrounded it to three of its sides. Winding walls. Prince Oberyn uttered them. In its center lies the Old Palace, the Sunspear. With a single heavily garrisoned pathway passing through all three walls. It was guarded by what they called the threefold gate. Three gates.

"The straight path to head straight to the court" The Prince had said,

They rushed off the straight and formal path plunged into the shadow city that is extending out from the walls of Sunspear right out between curtain walls covering every inch of space. Besides the Planky Town, it was the closest thing to the city.

It was near dusk when they finally arrived at the Shadow City, north of Planky Town.

 _So this is the beauty of Dorne and here I thought the coldness of Winter fell was better._ Jon thought with a grin stretching across his features.

There were dim shadows spread across the area. The sun was red and swollen. Jon wondered how this place must look during day time. For the place sits quite literally in the shadow of the Old Palace. _No wonder why the place is called so_.

Huts and mud-brick shops and windowless hovels clung to the castle like barnacles to a galley's Hall. The smell of dust, sweat and smoke were winding in the air. The tented bazaars, stables, inns and pillow houses with women beckoning from the windows came into the sight. _Gods be damned. And Arthur wanted to refuse to come at this place. Damn you Arthur._

Every house, inns and settlements has other stone-walls or wine shops or pillow houses built onto it.

The Shadow city looked a confusion of disorienting twists and turns. Shouts of market vendors could be heard. Many were chanting the Prince Oberyn name as if he were a god among them.

_Prince Oberyn._

_Red Viper._

_Red Viper._

Ghost was a very attracting sight. People were looking at him with wide eyes. The direwolf was ignoring them altogether and loping alongside him with not a care of the world. 

_The city is alive._ Jon thought. After so many days of riding the desert, he finally saw a place full of men, women and children singing and dancing. He could smell wine sinks. Hear the loud moans of women near the whorehouse. The dusk air drift of wine and sex. Jon felt _alive_. He seldom sensed anything like this ever since they left Starfall, ever since that dream.

They followed the brick path of the threefold gate. Passing each gate. They crossed the third gate Sunspear was built from mud and straw, and coloured brown and dun.

A lithe and small women was waiting in the outer yard with other people behind her. She strode towards them on snakeskin sandals laced up to her thighs. She was a buxom and beautiful woman with olive skin. Her hair was a mane of jet-black ringlets that fell to the small of her back, and around her brows was a band of copper sun. She wore loose layers of purple silk and yellow samite and jewelled girdle yet Jon could see the womanly body beneath those clothes. A body lush and roundly curved. Those big round ripe breasts were hard to miss. _A proper Dornish if there had ever been one._

Prince Oberyn and his party dismounted from their horses.

Many were gossiping at the sight of Ghost. Some were pointing at him with amazement and fear.

"Uncle" The women announced "Sunspear rejoices at your return" _Yes, I've heard_

So this the Princess. Princess Arianne Nymeros Martell.

"So it seems," agreed The Prince.

The Princess looked at him then. She had dark eyes. Those eyes reminded him of _Arya's._

"We were unaware of arrival with your.. friends" The Princess said beckoning at him and Ser Arthur.

The Prince turned to look at him and then at Ghost. "Ah, yes. Please meet Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning" He announced, some people around them gasped "and his nephew Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell… also his direwolf Ghost"

"Pleased to meet you, Sers" The Princess curtsied.

Jon rolled his eyes which didn't go unnoticed by the Princess.

"The pleasure is our princess" said Ser Arthur, like a ever so gallant Knight, already dismounted from his horse.

Jon dismounted from Shadow and moved forward, Ghost just ahead of him. He noticed Daemon Sand eyeing him warily and a couple of women, most dressed as men, were drifting their eyes from Ser Arthur to him. One of them wearing a gown had hair a little similar like his.

Ghost neared the Princess and the women flinched. Jon smirked at her.

"Ghost" He said in a dark voice "To me" The wolf obeyed.

"I will ask servants to fetch a room for your companions then" Princess Arianne announced, "I know how weary you all must be. I only wished to welcome you uncle and tell you how very pleased I am by your arrival." The Princess said, stealing a glance at him. _Very pleased indeed_

Sunspear 

  


Princess Arianne Martell

  
Tyene Sand 

  
Daenerys Targaryen 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh crap!!


	14. Catelyn I

Life was running smooth and appeasing for Catelyn Stark in Winterfell.

Catelyn was in her bed laying awake. Ned was beside her. His back turned towards her.

Her walls were dripping very warm seeds that Ned lavished inside her. The air within the walls were mild. Out of all the chambers in the Great Keep of Winterfell, Catelyn's room was the warmest. She seldom had to light a fire in the brazier. Scalding water rushed through the walls and chambers of the entire Winterfell as it was built around natural hot springs and hers were the warmest keeping her aroused even in the coldest of nights.

Ned started cupping her breasts now. His thumbs circling her nipples. Then, he took her left breast inside his warm mouth and began to touch her, brushing her thighs and running his cold hard and strong hands gently down her legs. Heat pooled between her thighs. Catelyn could only run her hands through his thick brown hair.

"Yes" She moaned.

He began stroking her cunny with his thumb. He placed his hand in her other breast whilst he was sucking hard on the another.

"Oh, Ned. Right there… yes… right there, Ned, OH"

He slid his index finger inside her and then added another. Catelyn was on the verge of screaming now. She shut her mouth tight.

Catelyn abruptly removed her hands from his hair and clenched the sheets. Ned was stroking her faster now and sucking her teats harder. Catelyn couldn't hold, thus she screamed, biting the pillow. Ned removed his finger then. He stood on his knee on the mattress. Ned was hard now. He positioned it up. He was staring at her with a lustful gaze. Ned's eyes were always either full of warmth to her and her children or steely gaze to his subjects but inside the bed those lustful eyes made her more aroused. She opened her legs for him, giving him a clear view.

He pounced on her and kissed her hard before sliding his manhood inside her. Catelyn shrieked a little. The familiar warmness filled her.

He slowly moved his hips and pounced inside her but soon he started plunging inside her like a savage

"Yes oh Ned. Harder" Catelyn continued whining.

Ned swooped her waist and raised it higher and started thrusting inside her harder. Catelyn removed her hands from the sheets and covered her mouth. The pleasure was overwhelming and soon her climax overtook her.

"Cat.. Cat.. I am about to.. " He could not finish before spilling deep inside her.

He threw himself onto the mattress. Catelyn inched closer to him to get the warmth.

Dawn was yet to break and they had already made love twice. Such was her life here in Winterfell.

Sixteen years ago she didn't imagine her life would change like this. She was back then betrothed to Bardon Stark, the Wild Wolf, the heir to Winterfell prior to Robert's Rebellion when she was but only twelve years old. Her Brandon was as rough and untamed a man as people in North talk about him. Still and all, he was ruggedly handsome and a very charming man, something her poor sweet Ned lacked.

When the Mad King Aerys Targaryen burnt Lord Rickard Stark and Brandon strangled himself to death, next calling for the heads of Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark thus subsequently setting in motion of Robert's Rebellion. Whilst she was promised to Brandon before but after his death at the primal of rebellion her father then presented her to marry the new Lord of Winterfell, Eddard Stark. When she heard about that she had cried hours in her chambers that night. Catelyn was half in love already with Brandon yet she married his brother at the Sept of Riverrun alongside her sister who married Lord Jon Arryn, now the Hand of the King. _Family, Duty, Honor._ Those were the words of House Tully and Catelyn lived on those words. She did her duty to her family honoring her House. Catelyn knew her and her sister's marriage was only meant to gain the army necessarily for the War.

Eddard was stranger to her during their wedding night. She had met him before at Tourney at Harrenhal but seldom acknowledged him. How could she? From what Catelyn noticed about him at tourney, he was shy, quiet and, dare she say, boring. In the tourney where most of the attention of the ladies were drawn to the likes of the Dragon Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, the Sword of the Morning Ser Arthur Dayne, Brandon Stark the Wild Wolf, Robert Baratheon and the young lion Ser Jaime Lannister also the youngest Kingsguard inducted though he was sent early. Among such handsome and charming men there were none to notice the presence of the quiet wolf Ned Stark except for one. _Lady Ashara Dayne._ And, that would be enough for any man.

The laughing violet eyed beauty, Ashara Dayne, for whom knights were falling all over graced herself to Ned Stark. Back then, Catelyn had bore her grudge after seeing Brandon ask her to a dance, only later she came to know that the courtesy was meant to get his shy brother to dance with Ashara Dayne. For all that, the way Brandon and Ashara were laughing and enjoying themselves not only caught many eyes but it ablazed Catelyn to no ends and she was embarrassed as well. She would have cursed the lady if she knew not that Brandon was easing his little brother among ladies but little had she known at that time the same lady would be her bane. There were many whispers. Catelyn wouldn't have cared for any if there were before the rebellion… before her marriage. But alas, all the whispers she heard were at Winterfell. Catelyn overheard her maids repeating the tales they heard from the lips of their husbands who were the soldiers fighting in the rebellion alongside Ned. Some whispered how Ser Arthur Dayne had spared their young liege lord's life and the others how Ned spared his but the end remained always the same. Both Ned and Ser Arthur had travelled together to Starfall on the shores of summer sea where the beautiful Ashara was giving birth to her son. _Jon Snow._

The haunting purple eyed, fair haired boy who many whispered as the beautiful son of the beautiful mother.

Servants and soldiers alike talked about how Ser Arthur Dayne and Ned Stark agreed to raise Jon Snow after the tragic death of Ashara Dayne. The people of Winterfell got bolder and bolder, whispering how epic their love story was, one sure made for songs like that of Aemon the Dragonknight and Queen Naerys. How Ned Stark sacrificed his love for his duty. _Duty_. That was what Catelyn felt. Her and Robb were duty to Ned that was put upon him against his will.

Many Lords fathered bastards, Catelyn had grown up knowing that. It came no surprise to her, in the first year of her marriage, to learn that Ned had fathered a child on Ashara Dayne. Any man would have done in place of Ned, Catelyn accepted that. After all, Ashara Dayne was a vision of beauty. Also, he had man's need, all the same, and they had spent a full year apart. But what cut her deep was he had raised his bastard alongside their true born son. _He must have truly loved her._ Catelyn thought to herself. Her son and the bastard were raised as close as brothers could be. Many in Winterfell saw them as such but all Catelyn saw was _Daeron Targaryen_ and _Daemon Blackfyre_ come again. Bastards are prickly by nature. Septon Mattheus had preached her as much. Noble bastard he might be, born from noble parents on both sides, but he was a bastard nonetheless.

Catelyn had been anointed with Seven oils and named in the rainbow of light that filled the sept of Riverrun. She was of the faith like her lord father and his father before him. She was devout at the Faith of the Seven. History had shown her that by and by. The Greystarks and the Blackfyres were the case of history.

Ned was off at war in the South whilst she stayed safe in her father's castle at Riverrun. Her thoughts were more of Robb, the infant son at her arms, than of her husband she hardly knew. Yet, she was scared what might happen to her and her child if her husband died. She would be widowed with an infant son clinging at her breasts. Worse, what would happen if Rhaegar Targaryen had won the battle. Her house, her family, everything would perish. The Mad King would have made sure of that. When words reached their victory Catelyn was relieved.

She returned to the North to welcome her husband. All the Northern lords and their soldiers returned yet Ned didn't. Words reached her ears that he was going in search of his sister. _Lady Lyanna Stark._

The young beautiful sister of Ned Stark. The attraction of the Tourney at Harrenhal. The strong willful women who caught the eyes of knights and lords and a _Prince_. The Dragon Prince's 'Queen of love and beauty'. Many people call it the beginning of the rebellion. The fall of the Targaryen dynasty. The moment when the Dragon Prince galloped past his wife Princess Elia Targaryen nèe Martell, when all the smiles died before laying the crown of _blue winter roses_ on the lap of the lady.

Ned did return with his sister, only to bury her remains in the crypt but returned with more than that. Ned brought his bastard home and called him _son_ for all the North to see, embarrassing her in her new home. Ned even brought the bastard's uncle and a wet nurse furthermore as though bringing the bastard was not offensive enough for her.

Catelyn was hostile towards Ned at first but eventually she had reluctantly accepted. She had once suggested letting the bastard and Ser Arthur Dayne return Dorne. That was the only time in all their years she could recall that Ned had ever scared her. "Never say that again" he had said in a cold voice, she could remember the steely hard eyes gazing at her, still. "He is my blood that is all you need to know, my lady, his mother is long dead and I'd vowed her to raise him"

Upto this day, Catelyn never dared to breach that subject ever again and neither did she ever fully understand why in the name of Seven would someone like Ser Arthur Dayne, the deadliest knight of Aerys Kingsguard, would raise a bastard born nephew. He also must truly love his sister like Ned had upto the point where he'd disgraced himself to come in the North. Catelyn came into conclusion.

"That was a good one" Ned gasped catching his breath,

Catelyn was brought out of her musings. Her loins were throbbing still. Nevertheless she welcomed the pain after the pleasurable love making. She prayed his seeds might quicken her again. She could bore him another son. She was not too old for that.

"You got plenty much left, yet" commented Catelyn.

"Maybe, but I want you, is all" Ned told her, that certainly made her smile.

Despite the talks in their beginning years of marriage, Ned had truly come to love her and Catelyn to him. Together they had five beautiful children. Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon.

Their fingers were intertwined with each other. Ned rolled from the bed pushing the sheets aside. Catelyn pulled the sheets tight covering her to get the warmth Ned left. He stood naked before pulling a fur to cover himself. The candle lights were flickering in the dark. He poured some water before offering her a cup which Catelyn gladly accepted. He walked towards the window and pulled the high narrow lancet.

The morning light was about to emerge. The room little brightened and the cool breeze swirled across making her shiver all of a sudden. He stood there for some time. He sighed and turned towards her.

"Is something wrong, my lord?“ asked Catelyn,

Ned moaned."Dire news. A raven arrived last night from Benjen" _Dark wings, dark words._

She waited for him to continue.

"Benjen writes that Waymar Royce, the son of Lord Yohn Royce of Vale, you remember right?" Catelyn nodded. Catelyn remembered Waymar Royce. The grey eyed handsome, dark, graceful and slender youth wearing that sable cloak of his mounted atop his black destrier. As a third born son with few chances of lands and riches the boy had decided to join the black brother. He was escorted by his father Bronze Yohn Royce North to the wall some nine moons ago. They had stayed on Winterfell as a guest. _He had the look of a Stark._ Catelyn reflected.

"He was a ranger of Night's Watch. He had been gone missing for moons after his ranging North of the Wall and also two of his fellow rangers: Will and Gared"

"Oh" Catelyn mouthed. It was not the first time this year that she'd heard from Ned that some men of Night's Watch had either deserted or disappeared.

"The man that deserted a moon and half ago prior to direwolves, Gared was his name. I had sent his head and a letter informing Lord Commander Mormont." Ned sat beside her in bed.

"And?" Catelyn questioned further pulling her sheets tight. Though she knew where this was going.

"He was one of the ranging brothers of Waymar Royce." Ned confirmed, "The poor man was half-mad already when we found him. Something had put a dread in him so deep that my words could not wake him"

"Could it be the Wildings?“

"Who else then, you tell me?" Ned shrugged. "It shall only get worse as time passes by. Someday in the near future, I may have to call my banners and ride North of the Wall.. "

Catelyn interrupted him immediately, fear lining in her voice "Beyond the Wall, Ned?“

"Aye, as the Lord Paramount of North, I had to deal with this King-beyond-the-Wall, Mance Rayder, another deserter of the Watch" Ned said nonchalantly as if venturing beyond the Wall was naught but one of his fellow bannerman's House.

"Need I remind you there are darker things beyond the Wall" Catelyn warned him sharply.

Ned smiled, kissing in her lips lightly. "I see, you listen to Old Nan's tales as well. The Others are dead, so are Children of forests and the Giants and the mammoths as well. Maester Luwin will tell they never existed at all."

"But.. " Catelyn tried to reason with him.

"These wildings are just savages and nothing more. Lord Greatjon would gladly join me to fight against them. So would Mormonts, Glovers and Karstarks," Ned told her. Catelyn reluctantly had to agree. The bastard and his uncle after all had battle with those savages at Bear Island. People had praised the bastard as though he were the Warrior reborn.

"None of the men in thousands of years had seen those things that you are imagining, Cat" Ned tried to assure her.

"You forget my lord husband, direwolves were also not seen South of the Wall for a very long time" Catelyn returned sharply.

Ned ignored that. "Ben writes the strength of the Night's Watch is below a thousand. It's only desertion. They are losing men on rangings as well, Cat"

 _Your bastard could join the Night's Watch my lord._ Catelyn dare not say that. She would have been the happiest woman in the world if the bastard joined the Night's Watch. Benjen saw the bastard as his son. Would Jon join the Night's Watch not only Robb's birthright would be assured for good but he would father no any bastard of his who might someday contest her grandchildren. But alas, the bastard would never be apt to join the Night's Watch, Catelyn knew that. The bastard was menacing and corrupt. He was more evil than the Ironborn hostage Theon Greyjoy. Catelyn was afraid his frequent visits to the brothel in Wintertown would aspire Robb but her Robb was his father's son. Truthful and honourable. _That didn't stop from fathering a bastard_. A voice inside reminded her. Catelyn ignored it.

What brought most fear in her was the fondness of her daughter Arya towards the bastard. Sansa was also fond of the boy as children but Catelyn and Septa Mordane had persuaded her to stay away from Jon. And, her daughter had obeyed but Arya… Arya was a different thing. Out of all her children, only Arya had the traditional Stark look. Not even the bastard looked like Ned. That was reliving to say the least. She had dark grey eyes, long face and dark brown hair of Starks. Catelyn thanked the Seven when Maester Luwin delivered Arya in her arms. Her both first born son and daughter had the Tully's colouring. She was afraid what Ned or northern would think had all her children looked like Tullys. But, Arya not only inherited the Stark look but also the Stark's temperament. _Wolfsblood_ as Ned would tone it. Arya was a wild thing. Catelyn could only pray to the Seven now she has a wolf of her own. A spiritual girl, Arya was interested more in fighting and exploration rather than weaving or sewing. Unlike her sister, Sansa, Arya was not a lady, yet. Unfortunately, the bastard was also sort of like that. So Arya easily got warm towards him. Ned at times peek out at Jon and Arya, Catelyn swore Ned would remember his deceased brother and sister. _Brandon_ and _Lyanna_. From what she heard from Old Nan and other older servants, Arya had taken after passionate Lady Lyanna in temperament. Ned sometimes in his deep melancholy told him as much and that was his fear. The whole world knows what happened to Lady Lyanna. Catelyn shuddered to think.

"Is something troubling you, my lady?" Ned once again brought her out of thoughts.

"Just the cold" Catelyn half lied. Besides her musings, the cold winds were twirling over the room, hitting the stone walls and Catelyn was naked with woolen sheets embracing her flesh. If it were not for the searing water scurrying through the walls of her chambers, Catelyn was sure she would be shivering right now.

"The winds were terrible last two nights, the cold is just its remnants" Ned told her, "but the dawn has arisen now",

Catelyn glanced at the window. The rays of sunlight were flickering through the windows casting the shadows of windows sheet.

"So it seems, how are you starting your day, my lord?" Catelyn politely asked her husband.

"The blizzard the night before yesterday had wasted many a clod in Wintertown," Ned said in a tired voice. He seemed older than she recalled him, the hair over his ears were nigh grey. "I ought to help them"

Harsh weather and high winds had for keeps wrecked the Wintertown's houses and it was essential that repairs were carried out as soon as possible. Howbeit, because of the vast number of work that needed to be done throughout the year, it was oft only in Winter months that the peasants would have time to do proper repairs as the entirety of Wintertown is deserted during summer. Less than one in five are occupied during summer, but they fill up during Winter. It was absurd to even say there would ever truly be a summer in the North such that snow falls even in summer.

Idealness was not tolerated provided that if the harvest failed, the whole village could face starvation in the Winter.

Catelyn often reflected how life is different in Winterfell. There were not many Knights in the North save the Manderlys of White Harbor and fewer landed knights altogether in the entire North. Generally in Riverrun or any other kingdoms for that matter, knights were given land by their liege lord in return for their military services. Their duty would have been to protect their lord and his family, as well as the castle of the lord, from invaders and out raiders and it is not that Winterfell was not protected, far from it. There were plenty of guards in Winterfell but only a few knights, and only one prominent remaining, Ser Rodrik Cassel and the other one had already left with his bastard nephew. In any other kingdom, the knights would keep as much of the land as they wished given by their liege lord for their personal use and the knights would distribute the rest to the commoners. In return for that, commoners would have to provide the Knights with free labour, food and service whenever it was demanded. Such was not the case in the North.

Most of the peasants' sods in Wintertown were made out of logs, straw, undressed stones and mud whereas in Riverrun their sods were made by constructing a framework of timber, then filling in the spaces with woven twigs and the twigs were daubed with mud which, when dried, made a hard wall. So, Catelyn was not surprised when harsh blizzards would destroy those peasants houses. Catelyn oft felt pity for them.

She watched as Ned pulled his breeches, slipped on his brown leather jerkin where the sigil of direwolf was embodied in it and fastened his grey fur cloak. He put on his leather shoes.

"Cat, I am heading towards my solar, i shall meet you in the Great Hall" With that he strode to the door and made his exit.

As the sunlight came streaming through lancet, Catelyn sat up in her bed and stretched. She fetched her bedrobes. Catelyn slipped into the robes and belted it about her waist. She called for servants to fetch her a bath. A hot bath tub was served.

Catelyn picked up a blue coloured gown, lined with a viar from her wardrobe. A maid helped her dress and then brushed and pinned her hair.

Catelyn padded across the room and slipped outside. Her surroundings were all hazy in the morning light. The inner curtains walls stood grim. The grass on the field were coated with summer snows. Her scandals were all swept with snow. She could feel the cold on her toes that made her shiver. _Snow, the one word that I hate most._ She strode towards the Sept.

Ned had built her a Sept here at Winterfell. Catelyn knew it was not in their tradition to have a Sept in Winterfell for the North follows the Old Gods. Catelyn had seldom enjoyed her presence in godswood. She was a Tully of Riverrun. She prayed to the faith of Seven not those tree gods. The godswood at Riverrun was a garden; dazzling and breezy with the scent of different flowers where tall redwoods spread sprinkled shadows over the chiming course and air was melodic where birds sang from their nests. The godswood of Winterfell howbeit was naught like Riverrun. It was a dark, old place, three acres of old forest untouched as the gloomy castle ascent around it. It smelled of moist and molder. Like the moist flesh, were it chanced to touch the iron would frooze to it. No redwoods grew here but a wood of twisted branches and mismatched roots with stubborn sentinel trees armoured in green needles of mighty oaks, of ironwood as old as the lands itself. The gods of Winterfell kept a different sort of wood. Catelyn pondered to herself. _The Old Gods_. The gods with no name and face. The place of hushed and grieving shadows.

Catelyn had preached both her daughters in the faith of Seven. As much as she would have loved the same for her sons but Ned would never agree. "Robb is the heir to Winterfell. He shall rule these lands someday. It is apt that Robb ought to follow the Old Gods and not your Seven, my lady. His bannermen would seldom follow him if he were not the follower of the Old Gods" Catelyn reluctantly had to give up.

She glanced around the Sept; the masonry of the Sept were the only walls that appeared to Catelyn as radiant in the entire fortress of Winterfell. The wooden altars inside were poised decently. The bow-shaped recesses covered with vault and inside the vault were the sculptures of the Seven. Septa Mordane was lightning the candles inside. Catelyn greeted her and went on to take a knee pray to the Seven. She prayed to the gods for the happiness of her family. She prayed a special one for Arya and Bran. Such as those two were the most troublesome. Afterward, Catelyn went towards the Great Hall to break her fast.

The hoarding of the Great Hall ranked atop its stonework. She went inside. The servants and guards were all giving her a short bow as she passed by.

Beyond the wide oak and iron doors, nine long rows of treated tables filled Winterfell's Great Hall. Four on each side and another on the centre, raised above the stone dias. The place where her family always dined. Theon Greyjoy was just near the centre table below the dias, chattering with some guards. Catelyn gracefully walked up to the dias like a true lady and took her seat besides her husband. Every one was presented at the table. Robb was right to Ned. His tangle of red-brown hair was not neatly combed and had grown long past his shoulders. He was wearing a grey woolen jerkin. Robb had mostly inherited from her and Tully's. The clear blue eyes, stocky built and the red-brown hair but Catelyn could see some similarities with Ned as they sat side by side. Robb had his facial built. Catelyn reflected. He looks strong though not lanky like Ned.

Catelyn often glanced around her firstborn in the training yard. He was a very hard worker, to be sure but her son, as far she could recall, had never been able to beat Jon in the training yard. That irked her every time. Oftentimes Catelyn faulted Ser Rodrik, he was not a better trainer than Ser Arthur, after all Ser Arthur was a renowned knight on the level of Ser Barristan the Bold if not better. Truth be told, Catelyn wanted her son to be trained by someone like Ser Arthur and not Ser Rodrik. A northern knight was no match for a former Kingsguard and the Sword of the Morning nonetheless. But, her anger and frustration got better of her. She didn't want her son to be trained by the uncle of her husband's bastard. That, and the hatred Ser Rodrik harbored for Ser Arthur.

Be that as it may, Robb was a _Stark_. A true born in the eyes of people not a bastard. No matter how much good the bastard was with a sword or how much good-looking people considered him, Catelyn loathed but had to agree. He was a _bastard._ He would not inherit anything. No lands, no title, nothing and that was a victory to her.

Next to him was Sansa. Sansa was dressed in a gown of blue trimmed with hair of red. Sansa's gown reminded her of her House Tully. Her auburn hair was luscious. Catelyn oft saw herself in her daughter. From the auburn hair to blue eyes and the high cheekbones. Sansa knew womanly arts as well as any southern lady. Sansa reached eleven years of age. Sansa knew how to dress, sing songs and sew clothes. Catelyn was really proud of what her firstborn daughter has become. "Sansa's needlework is as pretty as she is" Septa Mordane had praised her daughter on more than one occasion. A perfect lady.

Besides her was Arya. Catelyn knew not what to do of her. She wants not to act harsh at her daughter but time and time again Arya gives her more reasons to do so. Arya was everything Sansa was not. Arya preferred dirty breeches over clean gowns. She was bad on sewing and needlework. Whilst Septa Mordane had only praise for Sansa, Arya always got scorns from her. "Arya has hands of a blacksmith" Septa Mordane has praised her daughter in that sort of way. The only thing Arya was good at was horse riding. Although it came as little shock to her but Arya was better than Sansa at figures. _She could have run a household better than Sansa._ Catelyn thought to herself. Arya spends all her day playing in mud hiding from Septa. The girl was giving her enough headache and she was only nine. Catelyn prayed to the Seven that her daughter's sense would return someday.

Catelyn was sitting left to Ned. Ned was sitting in his cushioned chair observing everyone around him. Bran and Rickon were to her right.

Bran has already reached seven yearsone. It just seems like yesteryear when Maester Luwin placed her little son in her hand. He had grown up. Truth be told, Catelyn loves her son Brandon a little more than others. Bran also has her hair and eyes. One thing that Catelyn dislikes about her son was his habits to climb the walls. Catelyn was terrified that one day Bran would slip off the wall. Catelyn silently chastised herself for thinking such. Catelyn had once made him promise to stay in ground and not climb. He did keep his promise but only for a fortnight. One night he had sneaked out of the windows of his bedroom. The next day when servants reported to her that they couldn't find Bran in his room, she'd shrieked and cried until later when Ned found him sleeping in the upper branches of the tallest sentinel in the groove.

Rickon was just four namedays. He was still young to understand things properly but he would follow her everywhere she went. His direwolf, Shaggydog, was what concerned Catelyn. The black wolf was most feral of the litter. He had already bitten Mikken. Fortunately, the wolf is still a pup. The black wolf would growl at anybody save Rickon. None puts fear in Catelyn like that wolf of his.

Servants began to carry the food. A bowl of porridge and honey. Soft boiled eggs and beacons. Cheese, and brown oat bread. Carrots and pork were presented at the table. Catelyn poured herself some wine. She took a sip, the wine was sweetened with honey and cloves. The Northern prefers ale over wines. Catelyn reflected the first time she'd drank a cup of ale. It was so hard and sour and tasteless that Catelyn nearly spat. They were all breaking their fast silently until Maester Luwin came forth to their table and whispered in Ned's ears. Catelyn failed to hear what he had said but she noticed a sheet of paper that Maester Luwin rolled from his sleeves and handed to Ned before bowing and left them to dine.

Catelyn wanted naught to do what Maester Luwin had told him but the sudden change of demeanour in Ned's face made her curious.

"Ned, might I be bold to ask, what was Maester Luwin said to you?" Catelyn quipped out of curiosity, sipping a spoonful of porridge

She noticed Robb was also giving Ned a curious look and the other children were busy with their own doings.

Ned hesitated a bit before answering "It's naught, just that a raven arrived early morning"

Catelyn raised a brow at him. Dark wings, dark words. "Jon had sent a raven"  
.

"Jon had sent a raven?" Arya blurted abruptly.

"Can we read it, father?" Bran followed afterwards

The mention of the bastard left a sour taste in her mouth despite the porridge.

Robb and Sansa were also looking at Ned keenly. Robb and the bastard were close as brothers and Sansa, doubtless, wanted to hear about southern kingdoms.

On the benches below, most of the men glanced at the high table at the sudden outburst of Arya and Bran.

"I haven't read as well. You can join in my solar afterward" Ned told them, uncertainty lacing in his voice.

Catelyn was still in the dark about what happened that day when the bastard spring into Ned's solar. He looked joyous that day as though he was walking on air. Catelyn also heard the sudden outburst of Ned that day, but much like everyone else she couldn't get the wind of what he was yelling for. People were whispering that the bastard put lord Stark on the edge and he had yelled at him. Catelyn was rejoiced hearing that gossip but she didn't fully catch the grip. Ned seldom yelled at his children, even the bastard… he scarcely yelled to anybody. The bastard must have been bold enough to say something obnoxious. All of a sudden, Catelyn worried that the bastard had threatened Ned about inheriting Winterfell. If not then what else. He certainly wanted to talk to Ned alone. All Catelyn knows was the very next day, Jon left Winterfell with his uncle. It was more night two moons now. Ned told her about Lord Dayne's demise.

Catelyn at the outset, had guessed the bastard was gleaming because he was getting an opportunity to visit Starfall. It was at the other side of Seven Kingdoms. Anybody of the boy's age would be happy to travel the long journey but something was off. That night Ned looked really troubled as though he feared something terrible would happen. _He looks anxious now as well. _Catelyn observed.__

Catelyn would want naught to do with what the bastard writes to Ned but… Catelyn can't put into words but she knows the bastard is up to something. She needs to hear what the bastard wrote.

Catelyn urgently ceased her food and anxiously pounded towards the Great Keep. Ned and children were yet to finish their feedings.

Catelyn went inside the solar. A brazier was beside the table where Ned's place was beheld. There were some paperworks at the table. The windows were opened and candle lights were placed at every corner. Catelyn pacing back and forth anxiously. She called a maid inside.

"I want fire in this hearth" commanded Catelyn,  
The maid carried on her command and soon returned with a log and aflame the brazier.

Catelyn heard the sound of boots on stone. She turned around to see Ned entering the solar. He looked at her and went to sit in his chair.

"I excepted you be anywhere but here" Ned said giving her a measuring look,

Catelyn was caught in between dilemma. She couldn't say what was running inside his head but before she could utter anything all the children came inside even Rickon.

Ned sighed seeing them high-strung. He slid his hand into his cloak and took out the letter and read at first.

Catelyn was impatiently waiting and by the looks of her children they were also the same though Catelyn was doubtless of different reasons. As Ned went through reading his face grew a little pale and Catelyn's heart was pounding hard.

Ned cleared his throat, gaining their attention.  
" _Dear Lord Stark, it gladdens me to write this letter informing you that we reached Starfall safely. White Harbor truly is a magnificent city. From there, we sailed to Starfall through Merry Midwife, a cog of Captain Casso Magot. It took us a moon turn to reach ashore of Starfall, sailing across the Narrow Sea and the Sunset Sea. Starfall truly is a beauty of a Castle. It lies at the mouth of Torrentine river. Mountains erupt on both sides of a fast flowing river and atop the cliff lays Starfall. I know you know all these but I had promised Arya to inform all these. Lady Allyria was very warm towards us and the little lordling of Starfall, who also happens to be called Ned, was starstruck by the presence of Uncle Arthur. During our stay in Starfall, Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne also happened to visit Lord Dayne. He offered us to visit Sunspear and by the time this letter reached you we would be in Sunspear. Uncle Arthur had urged me to visit some of the free cities… so we might venture furthermore. I hope all is well there and please do tell everyone I miss them. Sincerely yours, Jon Snow_ "

By the time Ned finished the letter, Catelyn could see awestruck faces of her children but they could not see what was hidden behind the false address. The bastard was implying that he had made allies in Dorne. Catelyn was lost. _How could someone align themselves with a bastard?_ The Daynes would doubtless want the bastard to usurp the seat of Winterfell but Prince of Dorne as well? Catelyn's head was swirling now. _No I can't let the bastard usurp Robb._ Catelyn thought ferociously. Ned's face gave it all away. The bastard had threatened Ned indirectly or else why would Ned look so troubled. She needs to talk to Ned about it, soon. _He can't lie to me forever._ I need to do something but what? _I shall inform my father and brother about this_. Surely, her father would never let his grandson be usurped by a bastard born from a Dornish harlot. 

The Dornish had fought on the opposite end of the rebellion. They would want the Starks to be wrecked as much as they want the Lannisters and Baratheons. Catelyn wouldn't want to take risks. Bastards are evil by nature and Ned's bastard didn't wronged her. With such thoughts in her mind Catelyn strode out of the solar without glancing at anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The smut that was promised. Lol, I am terrible at it.  
> Catelyn pulled a Cersei Lannister stuff.


	15. Ashara IV

Ashara rode to the city with Rhaella in a litter with curtains of green silk. The silk was so light that Ashara could peek right through them. Inside the city walls, Ashara could see bazaars, taprooms, keeps, inns and taverns. A huge garrison came into view. _The marketplace_. Ashara thought. From outside the litter, strange voices could be heard. Ashara was now fluent in the high Valyrian language. She'd under Rhaella's tutelage, meant for Daenerys to learn high Valyrian, fared well. The tongue people were chattering outside was bastard Valyrian. Ashara realized. Each of the free cities had its own accent, and each of the accents had its own separate derived vocabulary. Ashara observed that during her time in Braavos, Volantis and now in Pentos.

Pentos was a beautiful place with various kinds of people. Some of whom dye oil and fork their beards. People here were generous to those that pleased them and were lovers of songs. The wealthy, however, do have equal power in the city much like every other cities and the poor population struggle to survive. Those without wealth in the city mostly become the so-called _free bond slaves._

Besides the free bond slaves, some choose to be the performers that train as tumblers or singers for multiple generations to perfect their art. The Pentoshi singers and murmurs were as jovial and renowned as the Braavosi's. The sound of singing was oft in the wind as she wandered through the streets. Even now, they could hear some melodies inside the litter. Shout of fishermen about their wages and costermongers doing their best to swirl customers with their peculiarly delicious roasted fish chunks.

Pentos was endowed by the ancient Dragonlords of Valyria as a trading outpost albeit many here claimed the city had existed before the Valyrians and the original dwellers decided to pay homage to Freehold. _More like forced to_. As Pentos was so close to the sea, small wonder that the first Pentoshi were the seafarers, merchants, mongers, traders and farmers. As tide went on like that for ages, the once trading post grew into a port city, as Pentos was known today, absorbing lands from river Rhoyne to the Velvet hills. Their evolution led them to obtain Andolas, the first homeland of Andals before their invasion of Westeros.

The first Pentoshi ranked only a few of high births amongst themselves; many were the bastards breeded by the dragonlords similar to most of the free cities save for Braavos. But unlike Volantis, the Pentoshi were less intrigued, proud and vigilant of their Valyrian blood and were more than willing to breed with the occupants of the lands they took over as they grew. As the result of their willingness to engender with the original inhabitants of lands they took control of, the present day Pentoshi have a lot of mixed Andals and Valyrian blood in them, mostly fair haired and blue eyed. Ashara came by a lot of such across the streets of the city.

Ashara had to thank Dany for all the lores of Pentos. The girl was very bookish to a fault. She was so much like Rhaegar in that. But, yet, Ashara could not help but worry about the girl, especially as her previous admirer had arrived in Pentos like a lap sick dog.

 _Maegyrs._ Ashara thought bitterly. Marqooro Maegyr along with his twins son and daughter, and a handful of guards had arrived at the manse of Illyrio. According to that dunce Marqooro, his father Molaquo Maegyr, the ruling Triach of the Tigers, had bid them to offer Rhaella to meet another Magister and his friends. "My lord father had his fair share of adherents even here in Pentos that could be helpful to her grace and King Viserys" The oaf had told them and now they were heading in a litter to meet the Magister and his friends.

Marquooro was an oaf buffoon that was ambitious beyond his grasp but his father Molaquo was a cunning, sly and shrewd man that held the power in Volantis. What truly brought fear inside her was the presence of Nyestros Maegyr. Ashara recalled the day when Dany padded inside her chambers explaining how the boy got bold enough to try to take Dany's maidenhood. His twin sister, Visenya was already successful in getting inside the sheets of Viserys. Ashara was doubtless that Queen Rhaella had seldom uttered a thing about Daemon but Ashara doubted Viserys could held his tongue when he would be deep in his cups. Molaquo Maegyr wants to make his granddaughter the Queen of Seven Kingdoms. That was why he was ready to aid Rhaella with swords. Ashara knew not how much swords would the Volanteese gather altogether but she knew he would not stand abide when Daemon shows himself and Rhaella crowns him King.

The man was so ambitious that he wants his grandson to marry Daenerys as well, as if Viserys being betrothed to Visenya was not enough. _He wants both Targaryen to be under his grasps._ But, there is another in Westeros. Ashara reminded herself.

Ashara had wanted to stay in the manse keeping an eye on Nyestros but Rhaella insisted her to come by. Rhaella didn't know about Nyestros and Dany's fling. Ashara regretted she should have told her that day. She kept the faith that Dany would not be so fool to trust Nyestros after her warnings. Also, there's the presence of the cheesemonger. That was equally troubling and relieving to her. The man was in a sour mood ever since Marquooro showed up at his gates. The cow had his own ambitions, Ashara knew. Just a position as the Maester of coins and a castle would seldom be enough to quench the thirst for people like him. Ashara failed to see what was that he desired? The man, as far as Ashara could recall, had no sons. _Or does he?_

And, Viserys… well it's best not to think about the boy. Ashara thought to herself. There's but naught that could be done about him. He already appeared smitten by the girl and Ashara doubt not that Marquooro would soon bring forth the proposal of marriage. Whatever he does to the girl was no concern of hers.

Abruptly their litter halted and Ashara was brought out of her musings. She glanced at Rhaella. Today, Rhaella had graced herself as a Queen much the same as her days in Westeros. She wore a beautiful blue gown trimmed with vair. The gown brought light to her lavender eyes. Ashara gazed at the beautiful coronet around her head. A full circle slim crown that really sparkles, made up of metal alloy coated with gold and embellished with blue and red sapphires and rhinestones. It was gently pushed in on the sides to custom fit her head. Her hair was silver steely grey now no longer the gorgeous silver-gold mane.

They stepped out of the litter, two of the guards of Marquooro already stood sentry. Ashara glanced across the city. They were near the Bay of Pentos. The city looked impressive with massive walls, tons of bazaars and roofing of tiles. The sunset gate that allows travellers to enter the city was to the south. Whilst the large red temple of the city where the faith of R'hllor are practiced were farther north. Many square foot towers were here and there, everywhere.

"The square foot brake towers are controlled by spies traders of Pentos who send their ships to far up location to trade for peppers and saffron" Illyrio had told them,

The city was somewhat similar to Braavos and Volantis. Ashara contemplated. Not only in the structures of holdfasts but Pentos does not have an overshadowing religion that makes everything reasonable and holds supremacy over the management of the city, very much like two cities. Ashara realized.

The best way to approach Pentos was by sea. It was set on the Bay of Pentos. A large natural harbor just off the Narrow Sea. Pentos was the closest of the free cities to Kingslanding. And, because of this proximity, trading ships pass back and forth between the two cities almost daily. Pentoshi and people of Kingslanding were mostly Andals. They were closest in blood and location howbeit it means not they are exactly the same.

Pentos was one of the daughters of Valyria and the Old blood can be found in its inhabitants. That Valyrian blood gave customs very different from the Seven Kingdoms. Ashara had come to realize. In the old days, Pentos was ruled by Prince of noble and high birth, much like Dorne after the arrival of Nymeria, who was chosen from the nobles of so-called forty families, another tradition from Valyria. In the very distance, Ashara could see a large fortress atop a hill. The Prince's palace, it was called.

Dany had enlightened her, the Prince was named by those forty noble families at once and then he would rule for life; when the Prince dies, they would name another but in perpetuum from a different family. The Prince of Pentos had administered Pentos for some time in days gone by but as the centuries went on, the Prince's power narrowed down as the power of the city Magisters, who would pick him, grew. In nonce Pentos, the council of Magisters ruled the city and the Prince was more of a ceremonial presence, though Ashara feels like the Prince has plenty of fringe benefit still, such as being carried around in a litter with plenty of guards from place to place and the Prince's palace was also splendid to look at from afar. The Prince has two major tasks in the city, Ashara was told; first, he is expected to do the honors over feasts and balls, and second, each new year the Prince ought to participate in an ancient ritual thought to come from the pre-Valyrian Pentos, that is said to ensure the continued prosperity of Pentos at sea and on land. In the said ritual, the Prince must deflower two maidens; the maid of the land and the maid of the sea. Ashara had laughed when Daenerys told her that. A Prince deflowering a maiden and that was his major duty. Who would not want to be a Prince then.

"Whilst a war is lost or drought ensued, the Prince of Pentos is held responsible, the people of Pentos will slit the Prince's throat in a sacrifice in readiness to placate the gods and bring back the good fortune" Ashara was horrified hearing that. The people would slit their own chosen Prince's throat because of war lost and famine? And, after appeasing their gods, though Ashara had no slightest idea which gods considering there are almost every god here, they would choose another Prince to bring back their prosperity to their city. If that Prince would fail to do so, they would repeat slitting their throat in sacrifice and then go on to choose a new Prince. The Prince of Pentos was ruler but in name only. Ashara was as clear as the sky above her. The Magisters ruled the city with their exquisite wailed off manses and several holdings.

The manse of the Magister they were standing in front now was of the same sort. The high walls of the fortress were no different than Illyrio's manse. They strode inside the manse as the portcullis lifted up. A fair haired maiden in a purple gown beckoned them to follow. The pale white curtain walls loomed above them, still.

Along the hallway, the exquisite corbels were lavished beneath the high ceilings. They strode off the walkaway of marvels and beyond the large oak doors they reached the backyard.The two guards of Marqooro were marching behind them as silent as the grave.

The extensive and beautiful surrounds ornate buildings with pillared galleries, tiled courtyards.

Two Unsullied guards stood sentry with spear and shield at their hand.

A long narrow backyard came into the view. The backyard led them to the gardens. The garden was covered with different flowers. Palm trees and cherry trees were there. Lush green lawns were crawling around the paved stones. A burst of colors of pink, blue and lavender flowers on the either sides of the hedges were glowing with neon intensity in the bright sunlight. Small evergreen shrubs and vines were everywhere. The square stone pavers embedded in the faux lawn near a narrowing planting bed led them through the gardens. The wind was cool there, accompanied with light showering all day.

The paveway led them to the flight of stone steps supported by small retaining walls. Ashara wondered how much gold was spent here. It seems the magisters of Pentos certainly love to flaunt their wealth. By the end of the garden, they reached the terrace and through the marble railings they could view the harbor of Pentos. The coast of the Bay of Pentos was lush with seas of manor houses dotted around the shores. Overlooking, the bay Ashara could observe high brick walls covered in pale ivory square towers. The narrow sea stretched as far as her eyes could see. To her surprise, Ashara caught a glimpse of war galleys.

There are plenty of fishing boats in the coast but there were also a war galley. Valyrian. It was written. From what Ashara knew about Pentos through Dany was that the city was prohibited from having a military fleet, not exactly prohibited but the cheesemonger told Pentos to have no exclusive war galleys as of now. _Mayhaps they built their fleet._

Two centuries ago Pentos and Braavos had gone through war with each other. Granted that Pentos was daughter of Valyria, it should come to no surprise to Ashara that slavery was practiced in Pentos before for much of its history. The Pentoshi ships played a huge role in the slaves trade. This was going smoothly and well for some time for Pentoshi until Braavos interfered.

Their northern neighbouring city Braavos was formed by a fleet of escaped slaves who risked their lives for freedom. There were no slaves in Braavos like in Volantis. Tales in Braavos have that the founders of Braavos swore that not a single soul in their city would ever be a slave. So they found a particular offense in Pentos dealing in the slave market for over two centuries. Six wars were fought between the two cities over slavery but it foreshadow by the water and rich lands between the two that certainly helped the war began but it was mostly about slavery. Four of the six wars ended with Braavosi winning and the Pentoshi were forced to submit. That was the time where it was a sure curse to be a Prince. Ashara mused. She had missed Braavos very much so after staying there the longest there.

The last war between the two cities occurred 90 years ago. The fifth Prince halted the further bloodshed by surrendering to the Braavos and accepting their terms. And, the terms were formidable to the Pentoshi. First, Pentos was limited to no more than twenty warships, and apparently there were none, secondly Braavos outlawed them from hiring sellswords and have an army beyond the city watch and enter into contracts with free companies. These terms made Pentos one of the most vulnerable of the free cities because of this for Magisters of the city mostly placate and pacified the Dothrakhi and other free cities. They've even made delicate friendships with Khals giving them many gifts and golds if they keep their Khalassars away from their city. That's how Magister Illyrio has such a huge connection with other people. Ashara had come to know by.

The biggest concession under the peace terms between the two cities, however, involved Pentos getting rid of slavery and never participate in slave trade again. The people of Pentos, as far as Ashara could reflect, mostly held to their word… mostly. There were many Pentoshi ships that woukd have a different banner of Lys or Myr, or so the cheesemonger told, when the ship was found to have slaves on board and in city itself there are tens of thousands of free bond servents who are colored and branded and basically slaves in all but name. These free bound slaves were harshly disciplined, though. Ashara observed. "They are free men and women allowed to refuse service" Magister Illyrio had told them. Ashara thought that was folly.

 _They would refuse service if they weren't in debt to their masters which almost all of them are._ The price of shelter and food provided by their masters were almost always worth more than the value of their labour. The more they work under their masters, the more they are indebted.

Ashara cleared her head and went on to the seating area shaded by a vine-coloured pergola.

Three men were awaiting them. Ashara knew only one of them. Clothed in a silver surcoat with golds and jewels all upon his hands and neck, and bearing the sigil of a red dragon on a quartered black and white field was Marqooro Maegyr. His companions were not far from him in flamboyant.

One of them was a pale faced grey bearded obese man wearing red silk tunic woven in lines, border embroidered at the cuffs, neckine and hem. The man had a grumpy nose and thin lips with eyes the color of blue summer sky. Ashara in an instant recognized the man as the magister. He was wearing a golden chain and a couple of gemstone rings were dancing on his fingers.

The other man was an olive skinned man wearing a flashing cloth of silver, with dagged sleeves so long the ends of them pooled on the stone floor. His curls were white and atop that was the most distinctive thing about the man. A jaunty green cap decorated with a fan of peacock feathers. Ashara had to hide her smile at the man. He looked like a clown and was gawking at her. The man even succeeded the other two in decorating himself with jewels. His fingers were laced with were all covered with amethyst and emeralds.

"Your Highness" The buffoon approached them kissing Rhaella's knuckles with his filthy mouth and repeated the same to her. "My lady"

"It is my great pleasure of mine to introduce you to Magister Manolo, one of the Magister of this City and an old friend of my lord father"

The man greeted them with courtesy befitting the court of Kingslanding.

"And Salladhor Saan… uh, a Lysene trader and Captain of _Valyrian_." So this was the captain of the warship. Marqooro appears not too familiar with the man.

"I am also called the _Prince of Narrow Sea_ " _By whom?_ The Lysene was quick to approach them.

"It is a pleasure to meet your royal majesty" The man said, "And the most beautiful lady that I have ever laid my eyes upon" The Lysene outright declared gazing at her.

Ashara, by now, was used to compliment and she thanked him gracefully.

The magister beckoned them to take a seat across the large Myrish table. Marqooro bidded the guards to leave.

"Before we talk about any matters, I would offer you my bread and salt, like your Westerosi customs, your grace" The Magister offered

"As you say" Queen Rhaella approved,

"Though, we offer wine and fish here" The old man chuckled,

He clapped his hands and servants flooded the place with food and wine.

Thick soups of venison and barley. Salads of sweetgrass and spinach and plums, sprinkled with crushed nuts. Snails in honey and garlic. Ashara had seldom tasted snails before. She took the snail out of the shell and fed herself with a sweet morsel as servants came bringing more items. Trouts fresh from the Bay, baked in a clay. She cracked open the hard casing to expose the flaky white flesh within. Baked apples and pies were served by that time Ashara was full.

"Alright Marqooro, now would be kind and tell me, why your lord father wanted us to meet _his_ friends" Rhaella said with annoyance lacing in her tone. Rhaella wanted to keep their identity as secret as possible and she was outraged when Marqooro showed up.

"Your grace, you know how much my father and I are concerned about you?" The oaf uttered,

"Yes, I do" said Rhaella, her patience running thin. It was no good that the oaf was here.

"Magister Manolo, here, is the one of the oldest Magister and original inhabitant of Pentos. My father regrets that Magister Monalo would have been a splendid host to you but alas King Viserys was tricked by that cheesemonger" Marqooro expressed clasping his hands.

"Lord Maegyr speaks true, your grace. Any friend of my friend, across the sea is a friend of mine and I would have been honored to host a Royal family to topple that" The man smiled showing his pale white teeth.

"Do not concern yourself my lords, for we are well acquainted as Magister Illyrio's guests"

Ashara poured herself the iced summer wine.

"But your grace Magister Illyrio is not a man to be trusted" The magister warned,

Rhaella narrowed her eyes "Speak freely, my Lord"

"As you will, your grace" The man take a twig at his wine "Illyrio is not an inhabitant of Pentos. No one knows where he came from. He and his friend, a bald friend, worked together stealing things and became very rich sooner."

"How did you know he was a thief, my lord?“ Ashara found herself asking.

The Magister looked at her. "How? I can not say, my lady, but in this city of Pentos no one had ever ranked in such higher status before so quickly but Illyrio. You tell me, how'd someone gain gold so quickly if not for stealing?“

Ashara kept her lips pursed. The buffoon Marqooro was shipping the morsel out of the snails eagerly.

"He is not even of noble birth but he grew respectable after wealth and as he was a handsome youth in his time he'd married the maiden daughter of a cousin of the Prince of Pentos“ the magister complained "though only by the help of the bald name. Not many know the man's name, but. I confess even I have no idea who he was“ Ashara threaded her fingers together.

 _Who was this man?_ She wondered.

"After his wife died, he married another " The man added, fingering his beard.

Ashara glanced around. Rhaella was keenly listening, the Pirate was stealing glances at her and Marqooro… the man was busy pouring himself more wine. Her nose wrinkled seeing that.

"Whom?“ The Queen questioned sipping her wine.

"Serra, your grace, a Lysene pillow house worker" The man replied seemingly disgusted "The Prince of Pentos was enraged by this and from then Illyrio was barred from visiting the Prince at his palace"

"Yet, the man was happy with his whore until.. " The man paused.

"Until what?“ asked Ashara, now curious.

" Until _Treasure_ " The obese man uttered in a dramatic way.

"Treasure of what?“ The man chuckled.

"Treasure, my lady, is a Braavosi trading galley carrying the palace anchored in Pentos" The man clarified.

"I take it, his second wife also died from the plague" The Queen said tapping the table with her jewelled flagon of wine.

"Yes, your grace" The man nodded. The Lysene captain filled his cups and whistled softly as though the story mattered not to him at all.

"And did he marry another?“ asked The Queen,

"No, your grace but they had a son" Ashara raised her brows. The magister told them he had no son or daughter of his.

"Son?" repeated the Queen, queered.

"Ah, yes, your grace" The man stroked his beard family "After the plague, the Magister claims his son also died but spies would tell you different"

"Whose spies? Yours?“

"Mine, your grace" confessed the man "you know we all need our spies, do you not?"

The Queen waved at him to continue.

And so he did. "My spies told me inside Illyrio's manse they'd seen the boy nearly a moon after the plague was eradicated from the city and yet Illyrio claims his son died"

"So where is his son?“

"I confess I have no hints, my lady " The man shook his head.

"So why have you brought us here, Marqooro?" Rhaella asked accusingly. The goon was startled by the sudden change of topic. Ashara had to hold her laugh.

"Y-y-your… gra.. grace?“ He was stuttering and the flagon of wine in his hand, still.

"Your friend here tells us a story about our host and has no answer about him, or his bald friend or his son"

"Your radiance.. I was only warning you to be cautious and not trust this man wholeheartedly, that is all" The man justified himself in a sweet tone. Ashara wondered if all the Magisters in the city had honey toned voices like this old man and Illyrio.

Rhaella leaned forward."Where's the gain for you in all this, my lord?“

"You wound me, your grace. Have I not told you before, any friend of Lord Maegyr is a friend of mine and you are soon to be family to him after all. I have heard about the betrothal between his grace and lady Visenya"

The Queen remained unconvinced and so was Ashara. "Pentos had always loved House Targaryen. We have a long history as well, if you may recall" The magister added.

Ashara knew what the man meant. Pentos mostly enjoyed having no wars after they stopped expanding until the doom of Valyria. After the doom, that destroyed the Valyrian Freehold and wiped out the other dragonlords save for House Targaryen. The Century of Blood erupted; where power inanity was created from the now gone Freehold. Volantis was first to lay claim that they should rule Valyria's Empire and shortly after that began their conquest of Essos. Pentos joined up with Tyrosh towards the end to resist Volantis and eventually they had invited then Lord of Dragonstone, Aegon Targaryen, to Pentos to aid them in their fight. Aegon Targaryen agreed and helped them fight against Volantis after the threat of Volantis was gone. After that, Aegon Targaryen had gone to conquer Westeros and founded the Seven Kingdoms; six in truth save for Dorne. Being a Dornish herself Ashara was proud of her homeland.

Pentos continued to have a relationship with House Targaryen. Prince Maegor, Maegor the Cruel, was exiled to Pentos in 39 AC by his brother King Aenys I. He was later brought back by his mother Visenya after Aenys the first died but his second wife, Alys Harroway, remained here in Pentos for some time. Another Pentoshi woman, Tyana of the Tower came with Maegor's wife from Pentos and became King Maegor's third lawful wife.

Later in 115 AC, Prince _Daemon Targaryen_ , the Rogue Prince, wed Laena Velaryon but his brother King _Viserys I Targaryen_ wasn't too pleased with. Henceforth, Prince Daemon had left Seven Kingdoms with his wife to Pentos. In the city the Prince of Pentos entertained them even though the Prince of Pentos putting on the charms for Prince Daemon also had to do with the growing triarchy alliance of Myr, Tyrosh and Lys. Pentos feared a war was coming with the ever more powerful Triarchy and Daemon Targaryen had been fighting against them for some time so charming upto the Prince had benefits. Prince Daemon and his wife travelled throughout Essos and then returned back to Pentos when his wife was pregnant. They remained guests of a Pentoshi Magister where their twin girls, Baela and Rhaena, were born in 116 AC. Six months after the birth, Daemon and his wife and children returned to Driftmark and later in 129 AC the infamous dance of the dragons broke out. Prince Daemon and his niece-wife Rhaenyra , the realm's delight, children Aegon and Viserys were decided to foster with the Prince of Pentos until Rhaenyra took the Iron Throne. The two Princes took the Pentoshi cog but the ship was attacked by the Greens and never made it to Pentos.

The last time there were King Viserys and a Prince Daemon years later Dance broke out. This time there's also Viserys. who crowns himself the King and a Daemon Targaryen. Ashara prayed to the Seven nothing sort of the dance of dragons would erupt. After the dance of the dragons ended, Pentos joined Braavos and Lorath to take down the Triarchy

Howbeit, Pentos and House Targaryen were not in always sweet as honey relations. During the reign of Daeron I Targaryen, the Young Dragon had started talks with Braavos regarding a marriage alliance between his sister and a sea lord whilst Pentos was at war with Braavos. This angered Pentos who then gave aid to the Dornish protesters, along with other free cities fighting at the opposite end of Braavos, trying to keep Daeron I from talking Dorne.

"We indeed have a history, my lord. Your concerns are duly noted." The Queen said before gaining her attention towards the Lysene captain who for the entire time was only sipping wine and gawking at her.

"And you? Sallad..a" The Queen struggled to say his name.

"Salladhor Saan, your grace" _Saan_. She knew that name.

"Are you from the Saan family?" Ashara asked all of a sudden.

"The very same, my lady. I find it queer, that you know about my family. I knew not that noble ladies were much known about families across the sea" The man said smiling at her, Ashara had to resist herself from rolling her eyes.

"Correct me If I am wrong my Lord but aren't the Saan family notorious for their pirates and smugglers?“ Rhaella asked narrowing her eyes,

"So they are, your grace" The man agreed. He was a slick smiling man whose flamboyance must be byword on both sides of the Narrow Sea. Ashara mused.

"Samarro Saan, the pirate who called himself _the last Valyrian_ , was a member of the Band of Nine, during the reign of my father" The Lysene snorted at that.

"What was this Samarro Saan to you my lord?“ asked Ashara,

"A distant cousin.. you see my lady, we have a large family and yes I confess I am also a pirate, smuggler and trader"

"Trader?" She repeated.

"Why, yes, merchants and pirates, who for long periods are one and the same person.. where the function appears to them advisable, they exercise the other"

"Every generation welcomes the pirate from the last" Ashara quipped "or so the tale is said"

"Careful my lady, the Pirate may sink you with a kiss, he might steal your heart and sail away" Ashara could not her laughter at that and judging by the look of joy in the Pirate's face, the man might mistook her laughter for something else.

"Sweet words, you speak but what good are you to _us_?" The Queen said, annoyed at the Pirate.

The Knight swirled his wine. "I am a good friend of the Magister here. Been for a long long time and when he requested me aid you I was doubtful at first. I am quite familiar in Westeros but you see I am a good o' friend of the Onion Knight."

"The Onion Knight?" The Queen repeated, queered. Ashara also has not heard about any Onion Knight.

"You don't know about him?" The Pirate asked them, a mild surprise flashing across his face.

The Queen looked at her then, "I am afraid, we have not heard about this Onion Knight of yours?"

"Sometimes I forgot, the Knight is just a smuggler raised high" The Pirate talked to himself.

Rhaella cleared her throat, gaining his attention.

"Ser Davos Seaworth of Flea bottom" The Pirate announced "He is a good friend of mine. In his days before knighthood Davos oft brought cargoes from me. A horny Knight who himself is father of seven sons and accuses me of keeping concubines" The Pirate chuckled.

"So?" Rhaella asked gazing sharply at Marqooro who was cowering.

The Lysene Pirate seem to take no mind of Rhaella. "Ser Knight was raised to knighthood by Stannis Baratheon" Salladhor Saan told them. That got their attention. The brother of the usurper. "During the rebellion, good man Davos, smuggled onions and salted fish into Storm's End as it was laid siege by your supporters"

That fool Mace Tyrell. Had the man instead joined Rhaegar on Trident then things would have been different. Ashara thought to herself.

"So this knight aided Stannis and Lord Stark broke the siege and Stannis came for us" The Queen regarded sharply.

The Pirate continued "It was only because of the onions and fish of Davos that Stannis and his men held the castle and later on Stark arrived to break the siege."

"So that's why he's called the Onion Knight? After the siege, Stannis knighted him?" asked Ashara,

The man flashed her a smile "Yes Stannis knighted him and gave him land in Cape's Warth and allowed him to chose Seaworth for his new house..though, good knight lost the first joint from each finger of his left hand"

"Did he lose in a battle?"

"No, sweet lady, Stannis swing the blade himself"

"What?“ Ashara asked bewildered.

The Pirate shrugged "As a payment for his past crime "

"Stannis was always grim and obedient, unlike his brother" Queen Rhaella recalled,

"Stannis frowns always. I have met him once. I would wager that I could hear him gritting his teeth from a league afar" The Lysene mocked, " _'It was just, what he did to me. I had flouted the King's law all my life'_ good Ser told me"

"What more can you say?" The Queen asked, sipping her wine.

"Stannis had raised him to knighthood. He had given him a place of honor at his table, a war galley, _Black Betha_ , to sail in place of a smuggler's skiff. His son Dale and Allard are captains of galleys as well, another son Maric is an oarsmaster on the _Fury_. Stannis also has taken Devan, his son, as a Squire now. He often travels from Kingslanding to Dragonstone on Stannis bidding." The Pirate told them sipping his wine,

Ashara digested the news for a moment. The food was still on the table. She glanced around and only the oaf Marqooro was devouring the trouts.

"Anything else?“ Rhaella insisted.

"Westorosi ever rushing" The Lysene complained "what good is this, I ask you? One who hurries through life hurries to his grave"

"Pirate?“ Rhaella called him "Are you done?“

"His wife, Selyse Florentine, apparently is devout towards R'hllor. A red priestess is her close companion. _For the night is dark and full of terrors_. It is the fire god worshiper's motto" The Lysene said swirling his wine in the flagon and taking a long sip. "The red priestess have a great temple on Lys too. Always they are burning this and burning that, crying out to their R'hllor. They bore me with their fires. Soon, they'd bore Stannis too, it is to be hoped"

"Did he change his religion too?“ asked Rhaella,

Salladhor Saan shrugged "I'd be surprised if the man follows any religion at all. But the lady's men are growing in numbers"

"Lady's men?“

"A group of useless knights and minor lordlings near the islands of Dragonstone who had given themselves to the Lord of Light. So won the favor of Lady Selyse… or so Davos told me"

"How loyal is this Ser Davos to Stannis?" Rhaella questioned, her crown was shining.

"Loyal to bones. He won't be swayed" The old Pirate admitted.

"And you?“ The Queen asked,

"Your grace-" The Magister tried to interrupt but a sharp glare from Rhaella shut him.

"And me as well."

"To whom“

"To the one that pays me and values me"

The Queen snorted "A pirate speaking of worth? How queer?“

"Queer, indeed. The world is twisted your grace when a Pirate vouch for the honor of Queens" Rhaella wholeheartedly laughed at that. The oaf and the magister also followed hesitantly.

"Alright, so you are very familiar with Dragonstone, my lord?“ Rhaella asked him after catching her breath,

The man shook his head "Not just Dragonstone, your grace. Kingslanding as well. My ship, _Bird of a thousand colors,_ you see she is not a warship but a trading ship and happens to oft visit Kingslanding."

"So you are familiar with the coastal lands of the Crownlands?“ The Queen interrogated. Ashara was not grasping where Rhaella was going with this.

"You can say" Salladhor nodded.

"I want you to deliver a message of mine to somebody there" The Queen put forth.

"You do realize I would need gold, yes?"

"Salladhor" The magister chastised "Hold your tongue, you shall be paid handsomely"

"Would you be able to do so?“ Rhaella raised a brow at him. Ashara yet was not understanding.

"As you will, your grace"

"Without telling a thing about us, of course"

The Pirate nodded again. "You can trust me on this"

"I want you to deliver this message of mine to Lord _Monford Velaryon_ " The Queen finally uttered. Ashara was aghast.

"Lord of Tides? The one with silver hair like yours?“

"The very one" Rhaella approved.

Monford Velaryon. The Lord of Tides and Master of Driftmark. Ashara was surprised at the Queen. Ashara knew the Velaryons were one of the most loyal vessels of House Targaryen sharing the Valyrian blood and had been married to Targaryen Princes thrice over previously. She knew not much about Monford Velaryon but he must be very loyal as the Queen appears to trust him. Ashara kept her mouth shut.

"Then we have a deal, your grace" The Pirate stood.


	16. Arianne I

Arianne was perplexed when she saw _him_ for the first time. Arianne, who stood up to welcome her uncle, had her attention to that boy and she could not take her eyes elsewhere. Mounted on top of a black horse with swag as if he had been born on a horse and wolf as white as snow besides him.He was clad in all black from head to toes; high leather riding boots, roughspun breeches and sleeveless black jerkin. When Arianne peered at his features with utmost care closely, she wondered as though god must have taken a lot of skill and effort to create such a face. For Arianne had not seen any person so beautiful till date, his beauty was not blown out. His long curling hair was shining like a beaten gold in the setting sun. His sharp face looked as if chipped from an ice itself. So pale and perfect. Lips were full and ruby red and cheekbones were high. And his eyes… like two amethyst gemstones, were shining.

"The boy is a savage northern, I tell you, Princess" Daemon reported her, "and a very egoistic braggart"

There were in the terrace overlooking the courtyard from above. It was still morning and the Dornish Sun was blazing hot.

"Egoistic braggart?" Tyene repeated, amused by the notion.

"Very much so and he commands his wolf as if it were a loyal hound, and the silent wolf obeys everything he tells" Arianne was quite fascinated and frightened when the wolf drew closer to her yesterday. The red eyes were unnerving. And the way in his deep voice he called his wolf and threw a smug look towards her...

"On our second day to Starfall he challenged Prince Oberyn in the first blood blades. Prince Oberyn bled him"

"He challenged the Red Viper? Is he stupid or brave?" Spotted Sylva asked. _Mayhaps both_

Ser Daemon ignored her though. "He has a very cruel mouth, dare I say, crueler than even Darkstar" _Prettier as well._

"He dared to insult Lord Uller, masked as guests during our stay there" The Bastard of Godsgrace complained. It seemed to her that Daemon was not fond of Jon Snow. _Half of the Ullers are half mad and the other half were worse_. It was the saying in Dorne. The boy was unbeknownst about that or else he would not have dared to wroth Lord Harmen. The Ullers were too dangerous when wroth. Arianne reflected.

As if somehow he knew they were talking about his master, the white wolf silently padded towards them. It was bigger than a dog and Arianne knew it would grow only larger. The wolf regarded each of them with his blood red eyes. Arianne found herself lost in those eyes. Arianne knew not why, but to her it appeared that the wolf will understand everything they utter. Their little chattering was halted by the presence of the wolf. Then she heard _him_ say "Ghost come back here, boy. Let's go to the yard and beat some Dornish asses, my hands are itching for the sword."

He came plodding towards the direwolf. He was clothed in a loose fitting black shirt with folded collar gathered at the wrist in wide cuffs and a deep neckline that uses laces for closure, and black breeches and boots. _Black seems to be his color._ Arianne pondered.

The boy was unknown about their presence, as he was fastening his leather belt that attached his sword. It was queer to see a man dress themselve openly but he seemed not to mind that at all.

Then he noticed them as he raised both his brow. Arianne noticed his slanted brows were more alike silver-gold. There was naught a thing that looked ugly about the boy. He moved towards them.

"Princess, Ser Daemon" He greeted them with a brief nod."My ladies" He eyed her up and down. Arianne today had worn herself a wisp of silk that covered everything and hid nothing in the sultriness of the morning.

She felt Daemon grew weary as the boy approached them. "Ser Jon-"

Arianne noticed him wrinkle his aquiline nose as she addressed him as a knight. She recalled yesterday he was rolling his eyes as well.

"I am no Ser, no more than I am a lord, Jon would be fine, if that pleases you"

"Jon" Tyene tested his name on her tongue "yes, it is sufficient, is it not Princess?"

"So it is" Princess agreed, playing along with her cousin.

"You need to be gallant and refined to be a Knight" Ser Daemon declared, if Jon Snow was offended then his face didn't show it.

"Knights are all about gallantry" The boy agreed, "the look splendid on shining armor but pompous on grave, too. So it happens I am fine without people calling me Ser"

Tyene giggled at that and Arianne found herself smiling.

"Everyone in this known world dies someday. I would prefer to die with my sword in my hand and plate armor around my body riding in a battle rather than to just talk and talk. Words and swords are different" Daemon spitted, ablaze now. The boy must have pissed him a lot during their ride. Arianne thought to herself.

Jon laughed "I sit on a horse maybe better than anything but I would sooner hold a goblet than a sword not that I am not good at it, mind you. But, it's just all that about gallantry and chivalry, sunlight flashing on armour, magnificent destriers snouting and prancing, that you love to brag about," He shrugged his shoulders "Well, the gallantry and chivalry is not mine piece of cake, the sunlight flashing on my armour cooks me up like a harvest day goose, and those magnificent sand steeds shit everywhere"

All three of the girls were laughing now, doubtless infuriating the poor knight.

"What do you know about chivalry? Nothing. You are a northern savage after all" Daemon rudely said, "Chivalry represents honour, service and respect for maidens and ladies" Arianne wondered since when was Daemon so passionate about knighthood.

"I thought Ser Arthur Dayne, a turncloak he maybe, might have taught his nephew something about Knighthood but it looks like he failed there as well" Daemon added further.

"How unruly of you, Ser? That is not how we treat a guest" Tyene rebuked. Arianne agreed, nodding her head.

"Tis' not a problem, my lady…" Jon Snow was quick to say that.

"Tyene"

"Tyene" He tested her name as well, there was no any hint of any blush on his unblemished cheeks when Tyene smiled at him.

His wolf was all the time silently gazing at her. Arianne urged herself to not look at the wolf's eyes. Jon Snow glanced back at Daemon.

"I am, indeed, a northern savage or maybe worse, on that we both can agree" Jon intoned nodding,  
Arianne noticed his hands drifting down to brush lightly over the hilt of the longsword that was strapped sheathed with his belt."I am not a follower of the Seven. I need not a religious-oriented ceremony to know my worth and regarding Ser Arthur Dayne why don't you ask himself, look he is approaching the yard"

Arianne looked and found the Knight walking to the bailey. He was wearing a simple white tunic and black breeches but his sword was evident for all to see. Almost everyone was closely staring at him.

Arianne heard the boy clear his throat. He raised a brow at them as if to say 'try me'.

"Lords are gold and Knights steel, yet two links can not make a Master's chain, could it? My uncle taught me that so I am content as being an iron, my knight of Summer" The boy mocked Daemon.

"Knight of Summer?" Tyene echoed.

"Why, yes, for knights are of summer, come autumn they fall like leaves and I am of Winter" Jon said, his voice like a whip hitting on flesh. It was clear to see that Daemon would not win against the boy in battle of wits.

He glanced at the yard again and Arianne followed his gaze to find her Uncle Oberyn entering the yard as well. Nymeria and Obara were already there.

"So you are a Winter Knight?" Tyene questioned with her sweet voice.

"Nothing of that sort. Just generally speaking. For I'm much more in favour of cocks inside cunts than axes inside skulls, but the world seems to accept swords alot easier than sex." There was no modesty in his tone that gave her a better opinion of him.

"Not here in Dorne, if that is appeasing to you" Tyene said in an equally sweet and seductive tone.

He flashed her a charming smile and his purple orbs were enchanting. _The boy is a charmer._ Arianne grasped. "No, I suppose not" With that he strode away with a swagger as if he owned the place.

Besides her, Ser Daemon was muttering curses and a moment later followed Jon Snow towards the galley.

Daemon Sand… Princess Arianne hopelessly pondered about the bastard of Godsgrace as things had never been the same between her and him after Arianne's father refused his offer for her hand. He was the one who took her maidenhood. He was so in love with her that he was bold enough to ask for her hand in front of the entire Dornish Court. He was a boy then, and bastard born, no fit consort for a princess of Dorne, he should have known better. And it was my father's will, not mine. Arianne wondered why it is bastards that she falls over for, not that she's already falling for Jon Snow but his presence Arianne could not deny, it was unsubtle. Pretty boys had ever been her weakness and especially dark and dangerous ones. This one was as bright as the sun though. Arianne told herself. Yet, there's an edge to him that none seems to hold especially a boy of his age. And, she was very much intrigued with him.

"That one is willful and intimidating" Spotted Sylva muttered,

"So it seems" agreed Arianne, her eyes were solely fixed on Jon Snow.

Things played out in the yard and much to the spectators delight, Prince Oberyn and Ser Arthur were about to spar. Tyene and Spotted Sylva voiced their excitement.

Arianne noticed Jon Snow approaching Ser Arthur and was speaking to him and Daemon neared towards Oberyn on the opposite side.

Soon the Red Viper and the Sword of the Morning were dancing across the yard. There was not a man in Dorne, Arianne had seen defeat her uncle as of yet.

They started clashing their sword and spear. Ser Arthur was holding a normal steel instead of the mighty Dawn and her Uncle, a spear.

Arianne observed both men were equally agile and quick. Whilst Oberyn would sneak and thrust his spear like a viper spitting, Ser Knight would just fend it with his superior sword skills.

Her uncle whirled the spear and slammed so fast that Arianne thought it would not be possible but Ser Arthur was even faster to sidestep and slash on Oberyn's torso.

Jon Snow shrugged his shoulders, waving his arm to mock the struggling Oberyn. It appeared to her that her Uncle and Jon Snow were sparring, and not the handsome blonde knight. For, every once in a while her uncle would glance across the yard to see him.

Oberyn must have really liked the boy as he seldom looked offended by a bastard, and Stark's bastard nonetheless, constantly challenging him off the yard.

Arianne reflected once as a child how she'd fancied her Uncle. She was a fool child-women back then.

Arianne was so much lost in her thoughts that she'd never seen how Ser Arthur Dayne had defeated Prince Oberyn already. The handsome blonde knight was known as the most deadliest swordsman of Seven Kingdoms far and wide. So, Arianne should not be surprised that her Uncle lost to him. From across the terrace, Arianne noticed Jon Snow was smirking at her Uncle. Doubtless rejoiced at seeing him lose. Daemon had told him how Oberyn had bled the bastard boy but the way he said, it was not satisfying especially considering the amount of loathsome Daemon is already harboring for Jon Snow.

As if her thoughts came into motion, no sooner the bout ended Ser Daemon Sand entered the yard wearing plate mail, like a knight in the songs. Arianne already knew what he meant to do..who he meant to challenge.

"The fool" Arianne muttered low,

"Oh our sweet Ser Daemon is looking for a spar" Tyene giggled to herself.

"He's trying to prove to you, Princess" Sylva said,

"Why would he prove to me anything?" Arianne questioned though she knew Spotted Sylva was right.

"The pretty boy over there. You could not get your eyes off him, not that I fault you, almost every maid in the Old Palace is failing on that, it appears to me our knight is feeling ignored" Slvya and Tyene giggled. Arianne wanted to deny that but she could not.

"Well, he is pretty indeed and his curls are so smooth they look, does it not? Would that I had those curls" Tyene dreamily sighed beside herself. Arianne rolled her eyes. If there were two things that Tyene loved the most were; the Old Town and curly hair. Oft times in their shared bed, Tyene would play with her curls for hours lying on the mattress. Arianne wondered how much her hands desired to feel those beautiful lustorious pale golden curls of his. It looked more magnificent than she'd seen yesterday. His hair was shimmering like the sun itself and those ringlets were floating across his fine face.

Down the bailey, Ser Daemon walked in what Arianne considered a poor imitation of the Red Viper. He challenged Jon Snow for all to hear near the earshot. Arianne silently cursed him. She knew not whether this Jon Snow would be a match for Daemon, as Daemon was a good fighter and was previously squire of Red Viper himself. But then again, Jon Snow was raised by Ser Arthur Dayne himself and Arianne just a couple of minutes ago found out who was the better between the duo. But, Ser Daemon was five years older. Arianne doubted the boy would beat Daemon but she hoped he would hold against Daemon for a little longer.

Arianne saw Nymeria and Obara were also looking at Jon Snow expectantly. Arianne loved all of her bastard cousins dearly; from sullen, fiery Obara to the four year old Loreza, the youngest of the Oberyn's daughters by Ellaria. Tyene had always been the one she loved the most but, the sweet sister she never had. Arianne had seldom been close to her brothers though; Quentyn was off to Yronwood and little Trystane was too young. It was always her and Tyene, with Garin, Drey and Spotted Sylva. Nymeria would also sometimes join them and Sarella was always more on books. So for the most part it was always the five of them. They'd splash in pools and fountains of Water Gardens, where now her father resides.

She and Tyene were inseparable. They learned to read, ride, dance and get drunk together. They even shared a bed together and would have shared their first men together, if only Drey had not spilled all on Tyene's fingers the moment she drew him from his breeches. Arianne wondered if this golden boy would last any longer if Tyene got to him. _When_ would be a better choice of words than _if._

Arianne glanced around and found maids were all peering at Jon Snow. He regarded Daemon for a minute or two and then his reply was just a single nod as if he didn't even consider him any worth.

Soon their yard was cleared and only the two of them were standing with sword and spear in their hands. Daemon was looking as though he was going for a battle. A look of focus and determination stretched across his demeanor and Jon was not even in a leather mail.

He said something to his direwolf and the white wolf padded away from the near area. Jon looked at Prince Oberyn and then gestured to him to watch.

They began to circle each other. The two bastards; one from Godsgrace and the other, Winterfell. Arianne was not fond of swords unlike her cousins. The Sand Snakes were the daughter of Oberyn and her, a weaker seed. Mayhaps that was the reason the Princess seldom desired swords made from steel. Prince Oberyn had armed each of his daughters so they would seldom be defenseless, but her weapon was only charm and seduction and from what it appeared to Arianne the boy was charmer in his own right.

The two were going at each other. Ser Daemon with his long spear and Jon Snow with a longsword. It seemed to Arianne, Jon Snow was relying more on quickness whereas Daemon on skills.

Daemon was whirling his spear rather ferociously but Jon Snow was dancing around him. His feet were lighter and he was only avoiding Daemon and it looked almost as if he were playing around him.

He is graceful and sharp like a knife. Arianne concluded.

As the sweltering heat of the Dornish sun in the late morning was blazing, soon Daemon looked tired and then it was Jon to lunge ferocious thrusts but only this time Daemon was not able to dance around. He sliced Daemon at his right shoulder, which would doubtless have left a mark. He slashed his right and left all over Daemon and the knight was having difficulty blocking his thrusts. Soon enough Daemon struggled to his knee and his legs wore out from under him and sent him crashing down the tiles stone yard. Ser Daemon laid flat out on his back but before any cheers or claps could be heard, Jon Snow looked at Oberyn and then, in a rather shocking sense, placed his boots atop Daemon's face to further mock not only the knight but Prince Oberyn as well whilst he was grinning the entire time doing so.

The yard was silent as a graveyard and some were rather angered by the disrespect plainly shown.To add further insult to the injury, he began to rub his heels around Daemon's cheek whilst gazing at her uncle the entire time. Prince Oberyn was not worth at all, but. He seemed rather amused and interestingly Ser Arthur was anything but proud at his nephew's show of art. The girls were swooning all over.

All of a sudden he looked at her then turning his head upwards. Arianne was left a little speechless at the scene she beheld. Jon Snow in all his triumph looked at her and even from the balcony she could see the twinkle of his purple orbs and Daemon Sand was at his mercy under his boots. The sight intrigued and aroused Arianne. She wondered whether the Warrior of the Seven looked as such. _Beautiful and dangerous._

Arianne remember him saying he's a follower of the Old Gods of the north and not the faith of Seven. He would perhaps need another compliment. Arianne mused. 

.

As the day passed and dusk broke, Arianne could not find Jon Snow anywhere. She'd dressed herself in a velvet gown made of a very nice Myrish fabric and wasfully lined. Arianne particularly liked the gown and she referred to it as the 'Princess gown'. The gown was a one piece dress that closed with laces in the front and back to ensure her perfect fit.

She strode to the Feast Hall meant for Ser Arthur Dayne though Arianne doubted her uncle would throw the feast in honour of Ser Arthur. For years the Dornish cursed the name of Ser Arthur Dayne. A turncloak and disgrace in the name of knight as he was referred to in Dorne. She felt a ting of pity for the former Kingsguard. Many people in Dorne called him coward and not the great Kingsguard and knight as he was hailed previously.

Ser Arthur Dayne had lived his life raising his bastard nephew born from the beautiful Ashara Dayne. She had heard stories about the beauty of Ashara Dayne. It was known throughout the Seven Kingdoms. She guessed that was where Jon Snow inherited his beauty. Be as it may, Jon was quite a known figure in Dorne especially as he was son of Lord Eddard Stark. The dog of the Usurper as he was called.

She was the last to enter the feast. Almost every eye of the men were on her save for her Uncle and his two guests.

Jon Snow was dressed in the same as morning and Ser Arthur Dayne had worn a sleeveless brown jerkin. She took her right opposite to Jon Snow; where she could properly stare at him.

Every one was muttering to themselves seeing a wolf at the feast hall. It looked like Prince Oberyn had allowed the wolf in the feast.

Prince Over addressed the small gatherings in feast Hall about the honor meant for Ser Arthur Dayne and she saw Jon Snow rolling his eyes. Ser Arthur, without any emotion on his face, was seated. Composed.

They were arranged on a high table. Prince Oberyn on one end of the Myrish furnished long table and Ser Arthur over the other end. Arianne was seated left to Oberyn whilst Jon Snow was to his right. Beside her, Tyene was settled, dressed in a flower embroidered white gown of ivory linen and aside her, to the right of Ser Arthur Dayne was Obara. And judging by her looks, Obara was impressed by Ser Arthur Dayne's prowess in the yard.

To his right was seated Ellaria Sand. There were only a few occasions where the Prince would be apart from his paramour and this feast was as such. And, between Ellaria and Jon Snow, Lady Nym was rooted. The second born daughter of Oberyn. Nymeria wore a gown of orange silk so sheer and fine that a candle shine right through it to reveal spun gold and jewels beneath.

Arianne quickly sent sympathy to Jon Snow. Arianne knew a nearly naked Nymeria was better than a well dressed cause one would never know how many blades would see be hiding.

Pork pies, root soup, baked onions, round of olive bread stuffed with sizzling beacon and dripping oils, crispy snake sauce, spiced fish, cardamom pods and many other dishes were served. The Dornish Red were brought in flagons. Candles were lit on the table.

Below their tier were placed the other members of the court. Ser Manfrey Martell and Maester Myles were engaging in their own talks and every now and then glancing towards Ser Arthur Dayne.

Prince Oberyn was so delicately offering the snake sauce and fiery root soup to Jon Snow as though he were a royal guest.

The boy eyed the dishes wearily before eating the sauce. After a couple of bites, he stopped to look at Oberyn, snapping his head all of a sudden.

"The best snake sauce has a drop of venom in it" Oberyn Martell laughed "along with dragon mustard seeds and dragon peppers"

The food appeared to sear his mouth and make him gasp for wine. His full lips were so red that Arianne fancied how they would taste when she captured them. He greedily drank the red wine the Prince offered but Arianne only felt pity for him. For it would burn even worse after the Dornish red. His eyes were nigh on the blink of tears whilst Prince Oberyn was smirking at the sight of him.

"Stop teasing him, Uncle" Arianne playfully said. She offered him some water and honey "Here have these" After greedily sucking the cup of water and honey, he mouthed her a thank you.

Then, Prince Oberyn started "Arthur and I grew up playing in the Water gardens…" He went on about their childhood for a while eating the delicious baked onions and spicy fish and soon after he started jabbing."Many of life's failures are people who didn't realize how close they were to success when they grew up, or is not Arthur?"

The Knight solemnly nodded his head. "I think so, my Prince" He was slicing the pork with his knives, his face craving to scream he would want to be anywhere else but here.

"My great concern is not whether you have failed but whether you are content with your failure" Prince Oberyn accused the knight but addressed his daughters as though it was some sort of lesson to them. _Poor knight. Oberyn would not let him go easy._

"Are you, then?" asked Jon Snow. His lips were red, still. Arianne noticed he didn't call Oberyn 'my prince.'

"What do you mean?" The Prince questioned.

"Oh" He rubbed his temples, sounding apologetic. "I thought you were speaking about your loss in the yard early"

The wine she was drinking caught in her throat and she coughed aloud until wine came out of her nose.

He offered her water in the same expressive way she'd offered him earlier. Almost teasingly. Arianne threw him a dirty look.

"I am content with my failure. I did lose to him and people in Dorne call me the finest men in the Dorne. Not anymore, I guess" Prince admitted, not at all shame of the loss. The Red Viper likes challenges and Arianne was half convinced next time Oberyn would beat the Knight but Jon Snow thought differently. He chuckled hearing her uncle.

"Is something amusing to you?" asked the Prince,

"What? No, no. I just happened to remember a friend O' mine, is all. Theon Greyjoy"

Oberyn raised a skeptical brow at him.

"Tis' just that I never pictured, a day may come where I would see someone who self-worships himself, or bugger that, someone who sucks his own cock better than that squid" He grinned. "You proved me wrong, Prince of Dorne"

"Was that a praise? If so then I am pleased I'd proved you wrong, Lord Snow."

"Depends on how you view, but just so let me say this that Theon Greyjoy is so futile that even the whores decline him to in favour of a better men"

"And you are the better men I assume" Arianne stated, putting her goblet down.

He threw her a smug look then "See, that's how you make other praise you"

Arianne found that banter ridiculous but not more than herself, a fool for asking. The Sand Snakes snickered at her.

"So where were we?" Oberyn resumed.

"On your failures" Jon was quick to quip. "I mean to say, on topic about failure"

"Sometimes circumstances drive you to failure, my Prince" Ser Arthur commented.

"Circumstances do not make you what you are, they reveal who you are" Prince Oberyn rebuked sharply before composing and turning towards Jon Snow "A penny of your thoughts on this?"

There was a world of arrogance in the way the boy said. "To hell with circumstances; I create my own fate"

The Prince grinned then. It was not a diplomatic smile like her father's which would mean that he would play his part, no it was a genuine welcoming smile.

"Boy, you often meet your fate on the road you take to avoid it. I pray Sunspear proves just that."

"Sometimes different road leads you to same castle. I hope your prayer would be fruitful"

"Such a sinister tongue, you have got" Lady Nym remarked. Nymeria was the blood of old Volantis. She was of noble birth just like Jon Snow. Arianne and her friends oft called her 'Lady Nym' for that.

"Oh, yes, I do, lady Nymeria" The boy agreed. Arianne picked up his hidden meaning. _Sinister tongue and restless spirit._ "Tongue hides the truth..like a sharp knife it kills without drawing blood"

"The tongue may hide the truth but eyes... never" Arianne listened Oberyn declare wrinkling his aquiline nose, taking a bite of stewed figs. Her eyes caught Jon Snow's purple gaze.

"I have been told, what we see depends mainly on what we look for" Jon Snow added nonchalantly staring at her, still.

Prince Oberyn laughed whilst from the corner of her eyes she saw Obara snorting. Her uncle had an amused look flashed across his face.

"So it is, boy, but seldom forget eyes have only one language everywhere" the Prince enlightened "And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you, like those pretty eyes of yours, because the greatest _secrets_ are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in miracles of this world would seldom find it"

"Could a greater miracle take place than for us to look through each other's eyes, for an instant?" Jon quipped.

Arianne chuckled and eyed him. "Leave him be, Nuncle. He seems to be a rouge"

"I would prefer to be a rogue than a dunce" The blonde declared, brushing his lose curls aside.

"A wit with dunce and a dunce with wit" Obara muttered, though Arianne knew who she meant.

"An honest rogue or a false saint?" Nymeria asked, glancing her eyes between Jon and Tyene. Both the blondes were looking at Nymeria. Arianne oftentimes herself was surprised by her cousin's sweet voice. Tyene has an ethereal innocence about her that would sure let fools believe her as a Septa, her mother was Septa as well, though Arianne knew Tyene was anything but innocent.

"Why, you'd find an honest rogue no more than you would find a septa in a whorehouse" replied Jon Snow.

All three of them chuckled at that while Obara frowned.

Obara Sand, the eldest Sand Snake rarely smiled or enjoyed her life like the rest of the Sand Snakes. She was a big-boned woman of twenty-eight namedays, with close-set eyes and rat brown hair of the Oldtown whore who'd birthed her. Obara was the most sullen of Oberyn's daughters. Whilst Nymeria and Tyene were beautiful yet dangerous, Obara was not much comely but dangerous nonetheless. She always preferred to wear breeches and boots, a coiled whip on her hips and across her back her spear and shield. Even now in the feast she was wearing as such. Obara loves to brag that she could master any horse in Dorne and any man as well. Arianne wondered whether she could master this boy and judging by the looks she was not impressed by him and neither was he with her.

"Command the fool for his wit, or a rogue for his honesty and he would receive you in his favour" Prince Oberyn quipped.

Jon shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. His lips pulled downwards "Rogues are always found out in some way. Whoever is wolf, will act like a wolf, that is most certain"

The talkings were going easy on the table. Obara and Nymeria were muttering with each other. Ser Arthur was chatting with Ellaria in a low voice. Tyene oft caressing her thighs between the tables. Arianne was finding it hard to not steal glances at Jon Snow especially with Oberyn keeping him busy.

"Arthur, are you afraid that wine may bring light to the hidden secret of yours" Prince Oberyn mocked the handsome knight, gaining everyone's attention at the table. Ellaria was offering him some more Dornish Red. Arianne was not sure whether it was fully a jest or Prince Oberyn was being obvious.

"Perhaps that is the secret, my Prince. It is not what we do, so men as why we do it." Ser Arthur Dayne politely offered instead. In contrast to his charming nephew, Ser Arthur was very handsome still that many maids would swoon over but he was polite and spoke only when he had to, unlike his impetuous nephew.

"Wines give courage and make men more apt for passion" Ellaria added. Arianne had to agree with her. Wine does make men more passionate.

"An old man in a tarven at Wintertown once told me that we are all mortals until the first kiss and the second glass of wine" Jon said in a deep voice, seductively. Arianne sat uncomfortably in the goose-down cushions on the chair. Heat rose across her face. _Damn._

"Tell your Uncle that" Prince Oberyn muttered,

"I oft do but it seems my uncle prefers water more than wine"

"No song was ever sung by a drinker of water" Prince Oberyn countered.

Jon Snow started humming."On that I can agree with you" He then sang a couple of lines in a tone sweeter than the summer wine.

_Vain-glorious man, when fluttering wind does blow_

_In his light wing's, is lifted to the sky;_

_The scorn of-knighthood and true chivalry_

_To think, without desert of gentle dead._

_And noble worth, to be advanced high,_

_Such praise is shame, but honour, virtue's meed,_

_Doth bear the fairest flower in honourable seed._

Prince Oberyn gwaffed as if that was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. The cup of wine he was holding all poured on the table. _Fairest flower in the honourable seed_. Indeed, very much so.

"You outdo yourself singing with such sublimity" Tyene commented in her honey laced tongue. _Such a bitch_. Arianne fondly pondered. Jon studied Tyene intently. Anyone could see the two were stealing glances at each other the entire time. Arianne was all of a sudden having a devilish thought inside her mind. She had to resist herself from grinning like a maniac.

"I fear, my existence is not very sublime or noble cause, but" Jon snorted "Be as it may, it is more noble to give yourself fully to one individual than to labour diligently for the salvation of masses"

Arianne didn't miss the intended jab on Oberyn. Prince Oberyn looked at the Jon with a scowl on his face. Arianne had enough of those two jabbing at each other like cat and mouse even though she found that amusing.

"Guarding the rights of others is the most noble and beautiful end of any man" Arianne blurted, surprising herself. Maybe the wine was working on her. All of a sudden, she remembered the _letter_. Arianne was no more than fourteen years old, she had once stumbled across a half-written letter from her father Prince Doran to her younger brother, Quentyn at Yronwood. In the letter, Arianne saw Prince Doran had wrote _'One day you will sit where I sat, and rule all Dorne.'_ Arianne was devastated by that. Her father had intended for her younger brother to succeed him, passing over Arianne entirely. _How could he?_ She had cried many a nights after her discovery. Arianne composed herself on an instant.

No sooner had she'd said that, Jon studied her with such gleam in his eyes that made her flushed. If he continues to stare at me like that I might not be able to hold myself any longer. Arianne thought to herself with excitement creeping at her chest.

"Princess" he called her, Arianne had to look at him. His lips were curved upwards and he was swirling his wine in the cup. "Such a wonderful thing you said that I can't help but agree with you...but do you know what else is noble?"

"What?"

" _Treachery_ "

"Treachery?" Arianne repeated completely dumbfounded. She glanced around and saw her cousins smirking at her, particularly Nymeria and Tyene, no doubt enjoying at her looking helpless around a pretty boy.

"Oh, yes, treachery is noble when aimed at tyranny" said Jon, glancing at Prince Oberyn, his eyes unyielding. "Targaryens learned it hard way"

And with that everything went silent.

Almost everyone in the Seven Kingdoms and beyond knows what happened to the Targaryens babies and Princess Elia at the sack of Kingslanding. Arianne knew Jon was provoking Oberyn and justifying his father at the same time. _Not so clever._

Prince Oberyn was red now. Her cousins were seethed. Obara even stood from her seat. Her own temper flared. _The boy must either be mad or brave to say those words. Maybe both._

From below the dias, she could of the people have heard and were staring at their table. Concern was plainly written on the features of Ser Arthur and Ellaria, and Jon..he was smirking and hiding his smug look with the flagon of wine.

"Snow" Prince Oberyn uttered darkly. "I say you hold your tongue, boy"

The boy just shrugged "Why, Prince, need I remind you that you invited us to stay here. After all, as you want some certain Master of Whispers in some council meeting to report about Ser Arthur Dayne with his bastard nephew visiting Sunspear, so I suppose, you must suffer my insolence if that is what you think I am doing"

Just like that in an instant, his tone was as virtuous as Tyene's. _This one is dangerous._ Jon winked at now surprised Oberyn.

Arianne was also surprised by that. It was no secret in the Seven Kingdoms that Dorne hates the crown. Arianne had heard about how her Uncle wanted to raise his bannermen and attack Robert Baratheon in his early reign. She'd even gone as far as to hear her father and her uncle argue during the Greyjoy rebellion. Her uncle had wanted to attack the Crown when they were weak but just like every other time Prince Doran refused. Arianne had her doubts that her father and uncle were planning up to something but it was years now and yet her father clinged to his resolve.

Arianne recalled that before the Greyjoy rebellion Renly Baratheon, the youngest brother of Robert Baratheon had once visited Sunspear. She did her best to seduce him as she was half a child then. The Lord of Storm's End was more bemused than inflamed by her seduction. Arianne had wanted to marry some great Lord of the realm as it befits a Princess she'd been taught like that but the only proposals she got were from old minor lordlings.

Arianne for some reason considered Jon Snow. He mayhaps would be a good consort, if not then at least he was very good-looking and their children would look as much as beautiful. She fancied their children with his gorgeous golden curls and purple eyes and her olive skin. She cleared her head from such notions.

"Jon.." Ser Arthur was about to rebuke his nephew but the boy would have none of it. He stood from his seat abruptly.

"You must forgive my manners, we scarcely have such lavished feasts at Winterfell so I am a bit overwhelmed." He said though he looked anything but overwhelmed, with that he strode away and didn't even wait for the leave. His wolf padding at his heels.

"Someday, Arthur, somebody will surely cut that tongue of this insolent brat nephew of yours" The Red Viper declared loud enough for everybody to hear.

"That is what I fear, my Prince" The Knight agreed in particular looking to none.

.

The rest of the feast was a haze. After he left, everyone was lost in their own thoughts for a long time. It seemed that there was a silence in the great hall. There was something intriguing in that boy. Ariane said to herself. Not everyone has the grit to mock the Red Viper, and in Sunspear on top of that. Arianne did not want to admit but she was very impressed with that boy. Arianne excused herself from the feast. She felt Tyene's gaze on her. She slipped past the feast hall and wandered across the corridor to enjoy the night's view from her favorite place.

To her great surprise, somebody else was already there. She was a little joyed, despite herself, when she confirmed the man at the window pane was Jon Snow. He was seated atop the lancet with his legs crossed at top the railings and his body leaning against the column. He appeared to be gazing at the sky. She hopped near him. He felt her presence as he turned his head and looked at her for a moment and then turned back continuing whatever he was doing. Almost like ignoring her presence.

"May I ask what you are doing here, Jon?" His name felt so foreign on her tongue but the boy wouldn't want him to be referred as Lord or Ser and calling him 'boy' would be insulting.

"Why, smelling the sea and feeling the sky"

 _The voice of the sea speaks to the soul._ Her father used to tell her in this very place when she was only a child. _The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in it's soft close embrace, Arianne_. She could remember his word, still.

"The night is pure and the city seems to be alive" Jon observed, his ethereal eyes appeared as though they could pierce through the darkness.

"Walk in the alleys of Sunspear in day time, you could feel eyes upon you everywhere you go but you would see none. Dark small Dornish eyes. I would wager pillow girls would not charge for you" Arianne blurted.

"Oh, I do love dark eyes." Jon said grinning. His grin was very much predatory. "The same as I love this darkness albeit overshined by the stars and moons, for the darkness is pure"

"Careful, now. Even the mighty Conqueror learned it the hard way" Arianne warned him, playing with her hair.

Upon his raised questioning eyebrow, Arianne went to explain further. "During the earliest Conquest of Dorne, Aegon and his forces were forced to win sieges over older men, women and green boys, the fighting men were always gone. Rhaneys Targaryen burned Planky Town on her way to Sunspear only to find an empty Sunspear and they claimed it"

"Wait, the Targaryens actually conquered Sunspear?" Jon Snow asked, bewildered.

Arianne chuckled. "Momentarily. The Conqueror and his sister-wife commanded Tyrell to hold Dorne and a Rosby to Sunspear and no sooner had the Targaryens gone, Dorne rebelled. The Dornish swarmed from the Shadow City and retook the castle, killing the garrisons and Lord Rosby was bound and gagged and presented to old and blind Princess Meria Martell, who threw him off the Spear Tower."

Jon Snow chuckled hearing her, seemingly amused.

"The defenestration of Sunspear, it is called" Arianne told him, "Shadow city is oft deserted in the heat of the day, when only buzzing flies moved down the dusty streets, but once the twilight falls the street come to life"

Somewhere finger drums were beating out the quick rhythm of a spear dance, giving the night a pulse.

He removed his legs from the lancet barrier and stood on his feet, leaning his shoulder over the pillar paring down the size capped and gestured to her to draw closer. "Come, princess. Enjoy the night"

Arianne greedily inched closer. He smelled of wine. A pleasant scent.

She looked very smaller than him despite she was five or so years older. Where the Sand Snakes were tall, Arianne took after her mother,

The crescent moon and stars filtered down a tinset light above the sea. It was a beautiful and delightful sight to behold; the body of the moon and stars scattered all across the night sky and the sea reflecting their light.

In the palest moonlight, his hair was all _silver_. Arianne wondered if the dragonlords of old Valyria looked as such regal with soft silver hair and glimmering purple eyes. Unbeknownst to herself, that someone was sneaking at them like a _viper_

They stayed like that for a moment or two in silence. Enjoying the view.

"The kindly God who lovingly fashioned each and every one of us and sprinkled the sky with such shining stars for our delight- that god, a myth of childhood is all, nothing a sane, undeluded grown ups could literally believe in. The God must either be turned into a symbol or something less concrete or abandoned altogether"

There was a melancholy lining in his tone. His cockiness was all but gone and Arianne wondered if he was playing with her or was he really missing someone, his mother mayhaps. For some reasons Arianne decided it was later. Arianne, herself missed her mother very much so. Quentyn was very young when he was sent to Yronwood for fostering. Too young, her mother had told. People in Norvos did not foster their children, and her lady mother Mellario had never forgiven her father for taking her son away from her.

Arianne once had eavesdropped them. "I don't like it anymore than you do but there's is blood debt and Quentyn is the only coin Lord Ormond shall accept"

"Coin?" Her mother had screamed, "what sort of father uses his own son to pay his debts?"

Her father's reply to that was "the Princely sort"

Arianne knew not what to make of what Jon uttered, so instead she said, "Your mother's house, the Daynes, it is said the first Dayne built the castle following the falling Stars and-"

"And the sword Dawn that my uncle possesses is also made from the falling Star" He finished keeping his eyes on the stars where it burned white on the azure.

"We are all like bright moon more than a star, we still have our _darker_ sides" He muttered in a low breath, almost as though he was talking to himself.

Arianne found herself taking Jon by hand and weaving her fingers through his own whilst gazing at the starlight of the sea.

"I say, we are like stars. Life is much similar to a winking of stars, don't you think? One would never know when it falls" She smiled at him.

"Of course, you know better. You must have enjoyed this view everyday." He playfully threaded his fingers through her long locks. Arianne enjoyed whatever he was doing.

She didn't deny what he said. It was true. She oft comes here to enjoy the night. "At night, when the sky is full of stars, and the sea is still, you get this wonderful feeling that you are floating in sky"  
Arianne noticed he looked a little tense when she said about floating in sky but he immediately schooled his features.

"In Winterfell, there are nights when wolves are silent and only the cold winds and the moon howls but half not as much as beautiful as this" He uttered but Arianne felt his gaze the entire time on her and not the sky.

Arianne inched closer till they were only a few inches apart. "Summer nights are pleasant, then. You can not deny that." He shook his head and wrapped his strong arms around her waist.

"Tonight the moon kisses the star, be like that to me, Princess" He whispered in her ear before nuzzling his nose to her neck.

Arianne no longer could restrain herself so she captured his lips with her own, passionately.

All of a sudden, amidst the daze Arianne knew not how but she found herself inside her chambers and Jon Snow kissing all over her face. The featherbed was placed on the edge near the window pane and candles were all over.

She took him bumy his arms and pushed him on the bed and seated on his lap. Consumed by lust, Jon desperately started tearing apart her dress. Upon seeing his desperation, Arianne giggled as she walloped away his grasping hand. Arianne took her sweet time to remove her gown, preferring to tease him. His eyes could barely contain the desire.

After removing her dress stood in front of him as he drank her naked sight. Arianne knew her body was hard to resist. Her full grown tits, well toned curves and her thighs earned herself a lot of praises from her previous lover and she knew Jon Snow won't be any different.

His mouth was agape as he was on the edge of the bed. Arianne smirked at him, "Speechless, are you?"

Jon gulped. "I have not been inside a woman for over two moons, come here" He took her by her wrist and placed his greedy mouth on hers. Arianne welcomed his tongue inside her mouth, as they wrestled each other. His hands were roaming all over her body before settling on her teats. He squeezed her left teats hard. Arianne moaned.

She grabbed his black shirt and pushed above his head so that his torso was bare. Lean body, hard and taut stomach, well-toned muscles, the boy had everything a young man should possess.

Jon went to open his breeches untying his belts. He kicked aside his breeches. She saw him in all his glory from up to down. There was not a thing about Jon Snow that could be described ugly. His cock was hard and welcoming with strands of silver-gold hair.

She must have been gawking at him. Jon smirked at her. "Speechless , are you?" He mocked her, heat rushed to her face.

Arianne cupped the back of his head and pulled him into a long, hard kiss.

They curled against each other at the feathered bed as her one leg wrapped around his waist whilst the other laid aside. He sucked and licked and bit on her one nipple whilst he twisted and pulled the other making them both as hard as pebbles. His hands were perfectly matched on her teats.

His hard hands then found her thighs and he began caressing the soft and smooth skin. Her nipples were hard and toes curved.

Jon sucked the pulse of her neck that made her knees go weak as she whimpered. He was enjoying her feeble state. Arianne quickly returned his favour as she pushed him aside and laid on top of him and she grabbed his hard cock and began stroking it. Now, it was his time to whimper. Arianne quickly rolled herself down, placing kisses all over his torso until her mouth reached his cock.

She was on her knees now just below the mattress and Jon half laid flat out on the bed. Arianne took his cock in her mouth.

"Fuck" he whispered, almost gasping. Arianne smiled smugly as her mouth engulfed his cock. "It feels so good. Keep doing this"

The room grew calmer and the work was done in the sultry heat.

Arianne started slurping and gulping all over his cock. Her head went alternating back and forth as she sucked him at a quick pace and every now and then she would halt to fondle his stones.

The sound of slurp and his moans and grunt were the only voice echoing in her room.

Arianne stared at his half-lidded eyes as they were about to shut with pleasure. She back her mouth until only the top of his cock was at her lips as she sucked it hard.

He opened his eyes wide in pleasure and spilled very hot seeds onto her mouth. She tasted his seed and swallowed it fully. His eyes were shimmering in the dim light as his body began to relax.

"Looks like I am late for the feast" a familiar voice echoed in her ears. Arianne grinned and turned her head towards the intruder.

Tyene popped inside the room grinning. She was wearing a light wisp of silk that was just one snatch away from falling apart.

Jon abruptly lifted his head "What the-"

"Please, do relax. My cousin and I love to share things. She wouldn't mind" Tyene giggled as she removed her silk.

Tyene breasts were not as much as big hers but equally perfect, caped with pale pink nipples. Her belly was toned, her waist thin and her hips well rounded. Arianne was mouth-watered and judging by his looks, Jon was also much the same.

Tyene began to crawl into the bed and grabbed his curls pulling him into an arousing kiss. They began to push each other, dominating over one another. Suddenly, Arianne was all wet and decided to join the fun. She pushed Jon aside and kissed her, making her taste his warm seed on her lips. Tyene started humming.

In the flash of a moment, Arianne began to ride Jon roughly. Her teats were bouncing hard. She rolled her hips, taking him deep so his tip would feel the very ends of her cunt before rising and falling in a matching pace. The clapping of flesh was arousing. Jon was at her mercy.

Tyene on the other side was also gently riding his face at the same time. Every so oft she would pause so he could suck her clit, or tease him. Arianne could not fathom. Regardless, Tyene screams were music to her ears.

Tyene then leaned closer to kiss her. Arianne moaned as her tongue slipped past her cousin's lips to play with her own and Jon was rolling his hips and hitting in her sensitive spots. His fingers found her nipples and he gave it a painful twist. Soon enough Arianne could not hold her orgasm as she cried on top of her lungs. "YEESSSS, more oh yes harder"

He began to thrust in a crazy pace “Fuck,” Jon groaned as her cunt danced back and forth on top of his cock, Tyene was already settled on the bed with her legs spread and saliva dripping from her cunt and all of sudden his seeds were rooted deep inside her. Jon gripped her hips tighter and made her roll on her back. She whirled and swayed her hips dragging atop his cock not long before laying flat on her bed.

"I told you, Dorne is different," Tyene said grinning at him.

"Well, I'd have hated to travel all those distances in those damn hot sand under the blazing sun, suffering the pangs of frustrated lust for naught" He said catching his breath.

"I hope those hard journeys proved fruitful." Arianne quipped with her half-lidded eyes.

"The journey proved scarcely for naught." He declared brushing his hair aside from his face.

Tyene licked her lips clean and then crawled up his body.

The room smell of sex and arousals and soon afterwards the sound of flesh hitting flesh and screams were echoing throughout the room.


	17. Jon IX

He sat in the Princess chamber, bent over a gaming table and opposite him sat Princess Arianne, pushing ornate pieces across squares of jade and carnelian and lapis lazuli. _Cyvasse_ , the game was called. Arianne had told him the game originated from Volantis and on a trading galley Planky Town was introduced to it, before soon enough the Orphans had spread it up down the Greenblood and the entire fucking Dornish court was mad all over it.

Jon found the game very much boring. Ten different pieces; rabble, spearmen, crossbowmen, light horse, heavy horse, trebuchet, catapult, elephant, _King_ and _dragon_. Each with distinct attributes and powers, moved along as the board changes. He was not much good but he could hold against the Princess on his own, as it turns out the Princess was also not good at it, though she seems to be very adamant about playing. Jon had his doubts that the Princess made him play the game, was because she must be the worst in this game in the entire Dornish Court as such she always moves her dragons only. Tyene was, however, brilliant in the game out of the three.

It has been a seninight since he arrived at Sunspear and for the past five days ..or nights more precisely, he found himself more in the Princess' chamber than his own. He knew Dorne was more unreserved in their promiscuous aspect but he never imagined on this height; a Prince with eight bastards from four different paramours and Princess fucking her own cousin. That made Jon love Dorne more and more as the time went. Their spicy food was, howbeit, a problem though. The atmosphere was always too hot and the spicy food made it even worse yet the Dornish enjoys their foods as much as a Northerner enjoys his ale.

Be that as it may, Jon was not a fool to enjoy whatever hospitality the cunt of a prince was offering. Sure, he needed the Dornish as his allies desperately as it happens his faith over northerners was not as high as he wanted it to be ...but still he'd damned if that whore prince would invite them to his castle and insult Uncle Arthur in his earshot...Ser Arthur, not uncle. Jon reminded himself. The man may not have any relation to him but he was his closest companion. His Kingsguard had always been more of a father figure, alongside Lord Stark, to him than his own sire who Jon scarcely knows. Jon recalled the times when some guards, or even Theon Greyjoy for that matter, had reminded him how lucky he was as being a bastard of the honourable Lord Stark as he got a roof above his head, wine and dine, and clothes to wear. Jon, for most of his life, believed that as well but lately his opinions were different. If anybody that sullied his honor and raised him then it was Ser Arthur Dayne and not Eddard Stark.

He should have not been surprised when Dornish lordlings like Ullers were so spiteful facing Ser Arthur. The man was a turncloak in their eyes. Jon felt slight pity and more anger towards them, when the whole world would know the truth then they shall see. Even a bastard from Godsgrace… _gods, he seldom even knew such a place subsisted_ … had the audacity to call Ser Arthur Dayne a turncloak. How dare that cunt? Jon was furious inside but he had way long learned to master his facial expression, a hundred thanks to Lady Stark, Ser Rodrick Cassel and Theon Greyjoy.

Strange things were occuring for the last couple of days here in Sunspear. For some reasons that Jon could not fathom, Ser Arthur Dayne easily agreed to visit Prince Doran at Water Gardens, as far as Jon could recall ever since they'd set their foot on Dorne, Ser Arthur Dayne had pulled a Lord Stark thing. His face was always guarded and stern that reminded him of Lord Stark every so often, and what was more queer than that was the behavior of Prince Oberyn. At the feast where he could not hold his tongue and made a show to insult Oberyn by bringing forth the topic about Targaryens, he'd expected Oberyn to be impudent with him after that, but such was not the case. As a matter of fact, he appeared even more amicable to him the very next day, chattering with him in a honey laced tongue which Jon didn't buy for a moment. _Oberyn is at something._ That much Jon knew. The usually poison sputtering viper would seldom speak with him in such a mellowed tongue. He knows, in fact the whole court knows, that there's something going on between him and the Princess, as it happens the Princess and Lady Tyene would always seek his company for last two days and given the reputation of Dorne, a blind man could tell about what was going on between the three considering Dorne and its lascivious culture. A bastard, and an adversary's bastard to hit the dirt on top of that, fucking their Princess and the people would not even bat an eye? Something is off, either this or it was not a new thing here in Dorne. For some strange reason, Jon thought both the cases and not at the same time. Then why was he having cold feet…

 _Did Oberyn knew?_ Jon shuddered to think that. If such was the case then he would have already been dead, wouldn't he? From the way Ser Arthur sings praises about his Dragon Prince, as though he were the greatest man to ever grace the world, he was everything that Jon wasn't but his face could decipher the truth. _How could someone know about a person long dead for over fifteen years?_ Jon asked himself. Also, Arthur seldom told him that Prince Rhaegar was a close friend of the Red Viper.

 _Fool_. Jon chastised himself. _I am a fool._ He repeated that like a mantra inside his head. A wanton princess shows her cunt and he was smitten? _I am to be King_. He reminded himself. _I can not let myself to be lusted by a princess who would be as good as an enemy, once she learns about me or maybe she already has?_ It hinted an impression to Jon that Oberyn knows about him and has told his niece and daughter to engage him whilst he was planning to do something about him or worse… thinking to kill him in the most painful way. No, no, no. It could not happen. Jon may be a bastard of Lord Stark but he's a son, still. The North would not be abide if Oberyn does anything stupid like killing him. That was the only assurance that made him spit every word as he desired. _But you are not Lord Stark's son._ Something inside him whispered. _You are Rhaegar Targaryen's seed._ And, Oberyn would be, doubtless, more than happy to cause a rift between Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark using him as a pawn, provoking a war mayhaps and endangering Lord Stark's and his family's lives. That would be very much like what a viper does, poison people. His heart was hammering in his chest.

"Are you still here?" The soft voice of Princess Arianne brought him to his senses. Jon didn't realize that he'd advanced his spearmen and the Princess had replied with her light horse.

He glanced at her. Her full lips were pouting. She was wearing a thread of her white silk nightgown that was so translucent that Jon could peer at her buxom. No matter how much he had felt those big teats, he just could not get over it. He shook his head which, much to his dismay, didn't go unnoticed by the Princess, as she smirked at him with a little glint on those dark eyes. _This woman would surely be the death of me._

"Your King is trapped" She told him. Jon looked at the board and found that his alabaster dragon was removed by her catapult and her own dragon seizing his King. _Dragon and King both slaughtered._ Jon thought to himself. Whilst in the middle of the game, Jon's thoughts went back to his dream… about the red dragon. His mind drifted to the dragon egg. He'd brought the egg from Winterfell and the chest was still in his chamber. Jon felt unease at that. The chest not only contains the dragon egg but also the proof about his existence, the marriage certificate about Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.

Once again Jon chastised himself for being an idiot. The chest should be kept safely from the peering eyes of Prince Oberyn and his spies, and instead of doing so, he was sitting here playing _Cyvasse._

"I lost again," he admitted, aloud.

"So it seems," the Princess agreed. It was only him and the Princess at the room. Lady Tyene would be oft with them but unlike the Princess she was a Sand Snake. She need not to act as a noble lady and stay at the court. That was their advantage, the Sand Snakes. They all seem to love riding their sand steeds on the vast red sands of the Broken Arm, the three eldest daughters of Oberyn.

"There was your mistake" the Princess said, gesturing at his dragon "hope of ill-gain is the beginning of loss, my father had taught me" _As true as one can be_. Oddly, what the Princess said rang true to his ears. _I hope for a kingdom, I hope for power and I hope for a ...home_. Jon wondered if that would be his loss.

He shrugged his shoulders "Loss which is unknown is no loss at all" His words were comfort to himself.

"Oh, you know nothing, Jon Snow" The Princess smiled at him. His heart began pacing, the more he spent time with the Princess the more he began to desire her and the more he began to get weary of her.

"I best be going on my way, princess"

"Why?"

"I need to take a piss and ready myself to ride to your Water Gardens" It was true. They were planning to ride for Water Gardens after the noontide.

"Use my privy chamber pot" the Princess insisted, ignoring the second part.

Jon shook his head instead and stood from his seat and was about to leave for his chambers but the Princess held his arms. He glanced at her. Her eyes swept his face and she was looking at him stubbornly. _Probably not used to getting waved off by a bastard_.

"You shall go, only when I say so, Jon Snow" She commanded him,

His own temper flared. _This little wayward woman dares to say that_. "And what if I do whatever that shall pleases me"

"And what pleases you?" Arianne pouted. She didn't let him reply, "Are you already bored of me, Jon?"

 _Never_ Jon wanted to say. He would scarcely get bored of those teats and that beautiful face of this princess. Also to the fact that, the Princess appeared to have mastered the art of pleasing men. It also meant the Princess must have fucked every pretty boy she'd come across with and Jon was just another of her play things but Jon was content with that. _When had I ever cared for the norms and values of nobility?_ Truth be told, he'd even considered the princess as his potential consort. Why wouldn't he? Dorne was a powerful Kingdom and the only one to never bend to the will of dragons, and their hatred for the Crown and Lannister is red hot still, something Jon could use as his advantage. So the heiress of Dorne would have been an obvious choice....only if he wasn't unfortunate to be the son of Lady Lyanna. Although, expect the damn Uller, none have said it to his face but he knows the part of the condemned Ser Arthur and he'd gotten from Dornish was solely because of the name _Lyanna Stark_. Jon would wager that Ser Arthur was reprehended, not because of the fact that he'd decided to raise Eddard Stark's bastard but because he chose to stay in the home of Lady Lyanna Stark. It was queer to think about his mother, who he had all his life thought as his aunt.

Jon would have laugh at the irony that the Dornish men who are quick to reprehend Lady Lyanna Stark for seducing their Dragon Prince, as Lord Uller believes to happen, the son of the Lady is now fucking their princess on her own home and contemporarily giving a black eye to their heroic prince. _Fuck, that's satisfying_. Jon thought smugly to himself.

"I never took you for brooding. You seem to have some devilish thought if your face has anything to say by" the Princess made a crack, bringing him back from his musings again. Amusement was glittering in her dark eyes.

"How long have you known me to take me for granted?" Jon asked, teasingly.

"Long enough to take you to my bed" The Princess threw him a wicked smile. On a dime, Jon wanted to kiss her and grab those breasts and fuck her, pushing her to the wall but he didn't. _I am to be King_. He reminded himself but what good is there to be a King if one could not please his own desires.

Jon was still on his feet as the Princess ran her smooth hands through his hair and pulled him closer to her, arching his head and laid a soft kiss at his jaw, not long before a long hard kiss. His feet were clumsy upon the Myrish carpet. The rushes were scratchy under the soles of his barefoot. Jon reluctantly gave up and grabbed the Princess by her waist. He pulled her off her feet and pushed her towards the feathered mattress.

He tore apart her bedrobe, the princess slapped his hand hard showing her repugnance towards the torn silk. Her olive skin was shining naked in the morning light as the rays flickered like a tongue through the window, caressing her body. He stood silent, drinking into the glories of her body. The round ripe breasts and the dark nipples, the lush curves at waist and hip, the hollow of her throat and those dark eyes. His throat went dry and his cock, as hard as a Valyrian steel.

Jon went to strip off his breeches but the princess beat him to it as she bolted up from her bed and immediately started untying his laces whilst Jon slipped out of his tunic. He pressed his mouth on her firmly, half-teasing and half-begging her lips to open so he could dive into the heat of her mouth.

His senses were fogged with desire as he dropped a hand to her lower back, then further lower to the curve of her ass, pressing her against the part of him that ached to be inside her. 

Everything went in a stupor afterward as the princess took his length on her mouth and his consciousness began to dwell at the moment of pleasure.

She glanced up at him beneath her eyelashes. His cock in her mouth and her face was flushed. The red cheeks on her olive skin made her something akin to a peach and her slurping was pushing jolts of pleasure throughout his body. The princess was a very skilled cocksucker. Jon concluded. He closed his eyes shut. He'd his fair share of whores in Wintertown but none seems to place him off the edge like this Dornish princess. Part of him knows it was only due to her noble rank that made Jon drown in pleasure. A princess sucking his cock.

It didn't take Jon a long time to shot burst of seeds inside her filthy mouth. He opened his eyes and gazed down at her. A shred of his seed was sliding down from the corner of her mouth and the princess's full lips were full of her saliva then she licked her lips grinning at him. Her dark nipples turned upright.

She slowly stood up to her heels, planting kisses all over his torso before settling in his lips. Jon grabbed her round breasts and gave her full squeez as the Princess began to moan, trying his best to ignore the fact that the Princess was making him taste his own seeds on her lips.

She shoved him to the bed and strode towards the furniture across the window. Her ass swaying the entire time and Jon, tried as hard as he might, could not get his eyes off her ass. She fetched something from the table and turned towards him sneering and Jon knew exactly why. Arianne Martell was carrying the Lyseni oil bottle, mostly used at the pillow houses. Excitement and dread waved on his heart. Excitement, as they had tried that a night before when Lady Tyene managed to get a bottle of oil for him. He'd spread the oil around his cock. They'd quivered like a candle on fire, the first few times after he’d taken both her and Tyene's tight entrance, but soon they'd grown grooved into it. And dread, because the sound of their screams might as well have heard from the Shadow City.

"Are you not one little excited pup?" The Princess teased him, his face must have shown away all his emotions.

"No good would do that for us" He said gesturing towards the bottle in her hands.

The princess frowned."I beg to differ, it would do us every good"

She crawled towards the bed approaching him. With an evil smile plastered across her features, she poured some oil all over her small hands and rubbed both together with glee as her fingers traced all over his cock. He was getting harder and harder now. His cock was all wet with the liquid and she handed him the bottle to spread the oil around the entrance of her curvy ass. Without a second wasted, Jon poured the oil and started rubbing her ass and sliding his fingers inside, accompanied by the moans and grunts of hers.

Jon took her by wrist and lifted her curves to align his length between her cheeks. No sooner had he thrust his length halfway inside her, the Princess screamed loud enough that he was sure the guards near the archway of her chambers would have heard her. Jon silently cursed himself for agreeing to do whatever the Princess pulled at him. But, soon enough he forgot that as his thrusts went into motion and he rode her from behind.

"It is so good, gods, oh" the Princess moans were like music to his ears "yes, so good"

Jon slapped her Dornish ass tight and the princess squealed in utter delight. "Harder, Jon Harder"

And, Jon did. He slapped harder and harder for a couple of times till her cheeks were red with marks.

Jon placed his hand over her waist and began to take her in a fast pace. His hips collided with her ass and the only sound heard was _clap, clap, clap_ … and her cries.

Her hands clutching tightly to the green sheets of the mattress and Jon was thankful that he took her from behind as it happens his back got enough scars from their previous sessions. He grabbed her black curls tightly and brought her closely to his chest and his finger sliding inside her mouth which she greedily sucked whilst he was ravishing her.

Jon felt like soaring in the sky as the tight cheeks of the woman wrapped his length, and he felt his cock throbbing and knew that he was about to spill his seeds.

"I am about to... " He said hastily,

"Out with it" the Princess shrieked aloud.

And, in an instant Jon spilled his loads inside her. Panting heavily, Jon pushed her aside and laid flat on his back. The Princess crawled towards him tracing her finger through the grooves of his chest.

They stayed like that for a moment or two before the Princess said "I thought you wanted to take a piss"

"I still do, but my lady had other intentions" Jon voiced impassively.

"Liar"

"Were you not the one who referred to me as a rogue?" Jon grinned at her, playing with her black curls. They smelled of mint and soap.

"But you are a rogue" the Princess pressed.

Jon shrugged his shoulders, twisting his mouth to a grimace "Many a man would have turned rogue if only they knew how"

They again sat for a couple of moments enjoying the silence before Jon scooped from the bed and fetched his clothes. "So to Water Gardens, then?" The lady asked him.

Jon nodded his head pulling on his breeches. "I did enjoy your company my lady, very much so, but every good thing has to end, does it not?"

"Why do you assume it was a good thing between _us_?" The princess mocked him with a fake scoff.

"Why, I thought my name on your lips was apt to assume you enjoyed our time together"

"I did and I promise it won't be last"

Jon was puzzled by what she meant. After Water Gardens, Jon and Ser Arthur would head straight to Planky Town to board a ship and sail across the Narrow Sea. He'd grown quite fond of her despite the short time. He enjoyed watching her. The expressive face, her self-mocking laughter and lewd jabs.

"I am also coming to the Water Gardens along with your party and the Sand Snakes" the Princess declared "It's just three leagues away and short half a day ride"

"Oh" Jon expressed. He was certainly delighted to hear that. If he were to go across the land beyond the sea to meet his other family with no guarantee of return then, he might as well have a great parting fuck to cherish for.

"I don't visit my father as often as Uncle Oberyn, only twice a year" the Princess muttered, pulling a wisp of silken sandskin robes around her body.

"If I may be so bold to ask, my lady, why would she visit her father only twice a year. The place sounds fun to me" Jon asked her curiously. If the story that her and Tyene had said to be believed then the place sounds quite intriguing.

A smile touched her lips."Are you not bold enough already to step on the toes of the Red Viper?"

Jon flushed at that. "True enough"

The princess strode towards the table pouring two cups of wine and pressed one on him. The walls of her room were draped with colorful silks hanging that shimmered with every breath of sunlight. The Cyavasse board was disposed of and it's pieces scattered all over. It was late morning still, Jon accepted the cup nevertheless. The Princess was also suggestive not to mind about it at all.

"My father enjoys his time at Water Gardens enjoying the children play at the fountains" the Princess voiced with somewhat lost in her own self "He'd grown quite weak in last couple of years so he had left for peace and isolation of Water Gardens"

Jon eyed her peculiarly. She caught his eyes and withdrew to look at the windows. He took a twig of his wine and sat beside her in the bed "And? That didn't explain why you visit him rarely?"

The Princess turned towards him sharply. _Careful now, careful_. It strike to Jon as though he'd crossed his line and now he was in his comfort.

Jon smiled smugly now infuriating the Princess further.

"Stop smirking like a harvest day pumpkin." She rebuked him,

"Why, every dawn I wake up with a purpose and a smirk"

"Urgh" The Princess rolled her eyes.

"Keep your secrets then, my lady. Every family has its own secret" Jon stood up from the bed taking a long last swig.

The Princess didn't seem to have a good understanding with her family. He recalled at the feast where the Princess had uttered something about guarding the other's _birthright_. At that moment, in his heights of lust over the Princess, all Jon could see was how much the Princess words were true to him as he had immediately pictured about his own birthright but now as he ponders, he could see it as clear as sky.

In all his time with Princess Arianne, the woman scarcely talked about her brother or her father. She mostly would babble about her childhood friends and the Sand Snakes, sometimes even her youngest brother Tyrestane or whoever the fuck he was. She only said her younger brother was fostering with some Lord Yronwood and Arthur tells him Yronwood is the second most powerful house of Dorne and a fierce rival to the Martells. A Bolton to a Stark was like a Yronwood to a Martell.

Jon would just have brushed it off as nothing but there's always a shadow of a doubt. _Could the heiress of Dorne was but in name only_? Prince Oberyn knows he fucks her niece and yet all he did was just sweetly talk accompanied by a couple of jests and a creepy gleam in his eyes. Arianne was different, but. She had the same dark eyes but not the maliciousness of the Red Viper. He could tell when she was aroused or genuinely happy but seldom a look of longing had he seen before in her dark eyes. _A tongue may hide the truth but eyes, never_. The Red Viper had so arrogantly advised him. _Watch with glittering eyes all around you_. He had told him at the feast. _Oh yes, Viper, see I am watching_.

"We don't have secrets like you Starks. You know nothing" The Princess blurted out as his back was facing her. _Stark, now am I?_ Jon grinned at making the princess as uncomfortable as she could be. He paddled towards the flagon of wine and poured him some more.

"I am not Stark, Princess, you best know that" Jon whispered nearing her as he filled her cups with more red wine, "and in Winterfell we are as clear as the Dornish sky. I am loved mostly by my family other than Lady Stark, who I scarce fault and her naive daughter Sansa."

"I want not to hear about your family" The Princess bristled. _Then let me hear about yours, princess._

Jon nodded. "I can tell. There's but naught that makes you more insane than family. Or more happy, or more exasperated. Or more...secured"

The Princess listened to him and preferred to stay silent. It was unnerving to Jon. _Speak, say something you stupid woman. Go on,_

After a while, Jon gave up and was about to leave but the Princess spoke "I sustain myself with the love of my family" _I would wager, you do._ "And that is happiness enough for me" _Liar._

He took his cup and went to the windows seat, where he sat drinking his wine and gazing at the summer sea. The water turned from deep blue to blue-green as the shade of cloud played. Jon tsked at her. "Some cause happiness wherever they go; other, whenever they go, and I am of latter instance for Lady Stark"

Jon was sure these past moons were the happiest tides for Lady Stark in Winterfell. He would not be surprised if he learns about another Stark about to get whelped.

"No one's family is ever truly happy. Tis' just a lie sung by singers, to make the rest of us feel inferior" Jon told her. Not the first time he wondered what would have happened so to speak, Rhaegar Targaryen slayed Robert Baratheon at the Trident. Would he be a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms living at Red Keep or just a royal bastard shunned by everyone. Probably he would be the Crown Prince as he was the only son of Prince Rhaegar. It didn't matter though, Rhaegar was killed at the Trident and he was just a boy with no army or gold.

The Princess' lips turned upwards into a faint smile as she drew closer to him and embraced him closely. Jon was a little startled by the gesture. She kissed his lips lightly cupping his face as though whatever he uttered were the words of wisdom to her. Jon himself knew not what he was blabbering for most of the part. It was just what he'd heard in brothels and taverns of Wintertow, yet it seems the words played it's magic. _I need to leave_.

"I beg your pardon but I must go, Princess" Jon uttered, astraddled. She nodded and Jon immediately waddled at his heels and left the room.

Outside the door at the corridors, guards of House Martell stood sentry in their sun and spear embroidered on silks. Jon glanced over from the Tower of Sun towards the slim Spear Tower standing tall. A day before he'd been explored around the place by the Princess. Jon was flabbergasted by the sight he had seen there. The dungeon was such that one can see the amazing view of the entire Shadow City.

He clamped down the stairs and reached his given chamber. His room was also in the Tower of Sun, just a floor below the Princess's and filled with luxury that he scarcely imagined. It was furnished with comfort. Featherbed and sleeping furs, a wood and copper tube large enough for two people to bath, slung leather chairs, a writing table with inkpot and quells, bowls of peaches, plums and a flagon of Dornish Red would always be at the table, and a _Cyavasse_ board.

Upon entering his room, Jon found Ghost asleep near his bed. As his bare feet made clinking sound to the ground, Ghost woke up and gazed at him. Jon smiled at the wolf's instincts and stooped low to give his wolf a scratch behind his ears. He would have insisted the wolf sleep as such they would ride hard for a day soon but right now he needed his wolf to guard the door.

"Ghost" He called his wolf, who in an instant bolted up, he gestured towards the door "watch"

Jon would not want somebody to just breeze inside the room or pry on him whilst he was hustling with the chest.

Jon had placed the wooden strongbox along with satchel convoying his clothes near the edge of his bed just between the table. He retrieved the chest and brought it up in his bed. He stood silent for three winks not sure whether to open the box. Truth be told, Jon was petrified every time he would gaze at the egg. Whenever he ran his fingers through the egg it would provide him with a warmness that he could not decipher how. But soon that warmness would overwhelm him and after his disruptive ordeal he dared not to even patent the chest.

His fingers were lingering over the box. The box was just the same as it was before. Jon glanced towards the door where Ghost stood sentry outside. He summoned his courage and opened the chest. There was nothing changed. The marriage cloak was there, the parchments and other texts that he'd scarcely read, the High Septon annulment paper and most importantly the dragon egg. He plugged the egg from the carton. As red as ever. He ran his fingers through the egg. The warmness was intriguing. The egg felt like a thing just needed a sparkle to ignite the flames.

 _"Silence is like a flame, you see?"_ A distant voice whispered. The hair behind his neck erected.

 _"Come, take me out of this dull world, for I would ride with you upon the wind and dance upon the mountains like a flame"._ Again a faint low voice stirred inside him. He was stretched terrified now. _What sort of madness is this?_

All of a sudden, Jon caught the ringing of footfalls dangling. He forthwith placed the egg back to the box and padlocked it. He swiveled across the door aghast, only to find out Ser Arthur paddling inside. Jon breathed a sigh of relief.

"You scared the shit out of me," Jon complained to the Knight. He wore a blue simple tunic embroidered with a white sword and falling Star crossed on lilac field, gifted by Lady Allyria Dayne back at Starfall.

Arthur raised a skeptical brow at him. "Long since sunrise I had dropped by your chambers thrice already. About time you finally turned in"

Jon blushed hearing that. "I..uh..yes, Ser I-"

Ser Arthur didn't let him reason "I need not to hear our sensual..act" Jon had to resist himself from roaring with laughter "I came by to remind you, in case you'd forgotten, that today we ride to Water Gardens"

"I scarcely need to be reminded, Ser" Jon returned "Just give me some moment, I shall bath and join you"

Ser Arthur nodded his head but before leaving he warned him "Jon, I plead you to choose your word carefully around Prince Doran. He's not hot-tempered like Prince Oberyn and prefers to stay in silence, observing things. Best not give him anything to ponder"

Jon wanted to talk about what transpired between him and Princess Arianne but he restrained himself from doing so. Jon decided he would first see this Prince of Dorne.

As he saw Ser Arthur about to leave, he immediately called him "Ser" Arthur faced him "Why did you agree to visit Water Gardens?"

"I agreed to visit Prince Doran, not Water Gardens"

"Why?"

"Why?" Ser Arthur eyed him sharply "Your impulsiveness has already put us at risk more than once. If we survive Prince Oberyn then Prince Doran would prove to be less demanding"

 _Arianne says he's weak, now Arthur says he's less demanding. Perchance we can make something handy out of this ride_. Jon mused.

"But do not take him with no trouble. I would say he's more dangerous than Oberyn" And just like that Arthur pulled the curtains down to prevent the hope of dawn rising inside him. Jon nodded and Arthur left him to his doings.

He asked a maid to draw him cold water. He cleansed from the smell of sex all over his body. Scrubbing and dipping in the wooden bathtub.

Afterward, he wore a dark green tunic with short arms, woven in linen optics and trim on the seams and slit on the sides. The length extended to his thighs, accompanied by his brown breeches. The tunic was a gift from Prince Oberyn himself, as he put into his words that Jon looked more like a black brother of the Wall in his black shirts and tunics.

Jon stuffed his clothes and the wooden chest in his saddlebag. It was up to the rafters but he needed not to invite peering eyes upon the box. Foods were already provided at the table. He quickly finished the bowls of peaches, loaves of soft bread and cup of red wine. He'd grown quite acquainted with Dornish Red. He wondered if he would ever taste the wine again. Ghost devoured chunks of porks.The wolf was scarcely short of meat here but he was not home, no more than Jon was. Despite the exquisite place Sunspear proved to be, he'd sorely missed snow coated green fields of Winterfell. Robb would surely be hunting in wolfswood with Greywind. Jon missed him. Right now he would have done anything to just spend time with him, the two of them hunting in the vast wolfswood alongside their direwolves. He would have probably sneaked Arya too. And Bran… _He will not fall._

Jon drew forth a parchment and seated himself on the writing table. He brought the inkpot and began to write the letter. He addressed everything that he could and sealed it and handed the letter to Maester Melys in his rookery and asked him to deliver it at Winterfell. The old man obeyed.

Down near the bailey, by the stables he went to saddle his horse. It was now time to ride to the so-called Water Gardens.

Arianne had told him that the Water Gardens was built by Prince Mors Martell as a wedding gift to his bride Princess Daenerys Targaryen. Theirs was a political marriage sought to bring Dorne into the Seven Kingdoms.

It is said that Princess Daenerys Targaryen loved her half-brother Daemon Blackfyre, another one of his namesakes. _And, soon I would sail across the Narrow Sea to meet another Princess Daenerys Targaryen._ It was said, had Daenerys married Daemon then the Blackfyre rebellion would have never happened. A marriage meant to settle two centuries long conflict only brought five more wars. Jon cleared him out of his musings. _There are no more Blackfyres and Dorne still needs to bring forth inside his Kingdom._

He pulled the reins of his horse and placed his saddle and water his horse. Ghost padding beside him. From the corner of his eyes, he could make out others had arrived as well.

Shadow, a courser with a temper as black as his hide. Most of the time Shadow would be as silent as his name would suggest but the animal had fire in his eyes. When Prince Oberyn had once tried to inspect him closer at Sandstone, Shadow had pulled back his lips and tried to bite off his face. Jon was bonded with his mount. The same way he was now bonded to Ghost. Oftentimes in his dreams he could see through Shadow's eyes.

"Does he have a name?" The soft voice of Tyene rang in his ears as he mounted atop his horse.

"Shadow" answered Jon, Tyene was already mounted atop her beautiful brown sand steed with black mane. He glanced around to see Ser Daemon Sand helping Princess Arianne to mount atop her white horse with black mane and tail.

"A fitting name" Tyene commented. Jon smiled at her. Tyene was a dangerous combination of sweetness and ferocity. No one could surmise that a woman like her with an innocence attached to her pretty face would swing a spear. Her passionate lovemaking was also another thing hard to digest. Even now she was wearing a lilac gown consisting of bodice and skirt.

"Would that I ride yours stallion" Tyene said,

"Best not. My stallion is little feral to strangers"

"I would wager my sister Obara could tame your horse" Lady Nym came out of nowhere dressed in green robes, atop her magnificent golden stallion with mane like fine white silk. She was a beautiful woman. As slender as willow. Her hair black straight worn in a long braid bound up with red gold wire and a widow's peak above her dark eyes like Oberyn Martell. High cheekbones, milk-pale skin and full red lips; she was as beautiful as Tyene and Princess Arianne.

Jon snorted "Even your father could not do that" Prince Oberyn was atop his black stallion with red mane and tail, awaiting his paramour.

"Was that a challenge, Jon Snow?"Obara Sand scowled at him. Jon wondered if the women ever smiled. He thought Lord Stark was sour but he wouldn't even hold a candle near her. Her own brown stallion was in very poor condition. Showered with mud and dirt all over, no better than its master's clothes.

"Make of it what you will," Jon shrugged. He wanted not to spend his time over a witless woman who was all sullen and cold.

"I know your lots, cursed with all the uncertainty of the youth, unleavened by any trace of humor or self-doubt, and wed to arrogance that came so naturally to those especially born blonde, and pretty face" Obara bristled. Everyone of their party was intently listening to them

Jon often found it funny that most men or maybe women, in this case, that have either reached adulthood or just above their youth claims that, young boys always dream of war but are as green as summer grass.They say with such arrogance as though they were born with wisdom of the Warrior and Maester. Jon scarce was fond of history but most of the warriors of _their_ songs did their so-called heroic and knightly acts in their youth.

"Be as it may, I would rather prefer to be a fourteen years old me than thirty years old you" _Bitch._ Jon left the word unspoken. Her face was a mask of stone before he said, then it hardened. A couple of snickers could be heard from behind. They rode with a party of sixteen men. Himself, Ser Arthur, Prince Oberyn and his paramour, Princess Arianne, Ser Daemon Sand, Andrey Dalt, Lady Sylva Santagar and the three Sand Snakes along with five House Martell guards on foot.

They galloped past the threefold gates as the alleys leading to tented bazaars, inns and pillow houses came into view. The Dornish, from the Shadow city, lined the streets and watched from their delicate balconies. It conveyed the impression to Jon as it were that the Red Viper could bring the sneaky Dornish out of their mud-bricks and hugs in the midday.

They ride forth to the coast road heading west from Sunspear. Beautiful meander looking out over the summer sea.

Prince Oberyn, Ellaria Sand, Obara Sand and Ser Arthur took the lead with Jon following close behind alongside Lady Tyene and Princess Arianne with Ser Daemon Sand further side. Lady Nym along with Andrey Dalt and Sylva Santagar followed behind them. Spearmen trailing behind them with their round gleaming shields and spears.

Drey, as Arianne liked to call him, the heir of Lemonwood, struck to Jon as a decent fellow with easy smiles and an open face though he avoids Jon like a plague and he, not in the least, minded that. Jon didn't like to engage himself with the herald of sheeps. The Dalt boy was just another apple-polisher of the princess, very much the same akin to the knightly Ser Daemon Sand. Jon reflected. Daemon Sand, Jon not a bit taken to the gospel truth that the knight's name was Daemon itself. It was delightful to watch the man avert his gaze whenever Jon looked at him. He needed someone to make him eat the dirt and Jon had rejoiced to do so.

The Dornishwomen had all covered their faces drawing veils. The midday sun was blazing the same as everywhere from Starfall to Sunspear but the cool breeze blowing from the sea and the waves lap gently on the shore kept them soothed as they galloped past sparse red-brown lands of stone and sand and twisted stunted trees. The brim of the waterfront would cover all their eyes and dirt winding on their mouth oftentimes as they rode past many a sand dunes, charged to the sandstorm from the Sunset Sea.

A couple of hours laters, the sound came across the sands and rolling plain, indistinct as the murmur of some distant sea, but swelling as they rode closer. By the time they caught the sight of Water Gardens at the east glinting in the sun, it was hours before twilight. They could make out the voices of men, the clatter of steel and the whinny of horses. Jon saw more men as he drew closer, with spears in steel caps and silks.

Topside in the patio, among the ranks of a few guards a boy showered in silks and golds was awaiting them. The boy might be no more than ten name days. Jon instantly recognized the boy as Prince Trystane Martell. He did look similar to Arianne to a certain extent. The same black hair and olive skin. They reached by the stables as the stable boys all hurriedly tended their horses. The boy threw his arms around Oberyn and some little girls were tightly hugging Ellaria Sand and the Sand Snakes. They must be the three daughters of Ellaria fathered by Prince Oberyn. Prince Doran was not there though. Jon and Ser Arthur were given rooms to rest.

Jon glanced around the place as they entered through the archway. The Gardens were built into the beach itself. A wide expanse of pink marble with porticoes over the terrace offering shades. Rows of impeccably tented blood orange trees, pools and fountains and water features were everywhere.

Children romped naked in the swollen sun, music played in the titled courtyards and the air was sharp with the smell of lemon and oranges. Small wonder the place was used as a retreat by Prince Doran from the flurry of Sunspear.

The pools include a tanning ledge, fountains and a decking that separated it from the lawn, allowing easy entry and exit for the children.

It was hours now they'd arrived and the Dornish Prince would still not see them. Jon's patience was growing thin. He sat upon his chair and started polishing his sword with whitstone.

A serving man brought him a bowl of curry, ham flecked with fiery peppers, oranges, cheese and purple olives and a flagon of sweet heavy strong wine.

A couple of children lay face down reclining upon the smooth pink marble. Others paddled in the sea beyond. Some were building a sand castle with a spike that resembled the Spear Tower. More children were shoving each other into the water. Every time a pair went down, the splash was followed by a roar of laughter.

A pitch-black haired girl and an olive skinned girl were shoving a fair looking boy into the pool. Jon smiled seeing that. He wished he could also play with them. But alas he's a man grown now and his play time is past himself.

Be as it may, Jon could easily guess the fair boy was not on this side of Dorne, as the way he walked with grace identified him as of noble blood. The two girls looked like commoner's children, but. This was another thing he admired about Dorne. They, not in any way, looked down upon bastards and commoners. Would that every kingdom were like this.

"Princess Daenerys, on one very sweltering day, observed the children of guards and servants were not allowed to play but only the noble ones. She felt pity on them and invited them to play in the pools and from their onwards every children, be it kin of Lords or small folks, all were allowed to enjoy the fountains and pools of Water Gardens" Princess Arianne had told him,

When the sun set the air grew cool and the children went inside in search of supper. He'd already finished polishing his sword and eating his food and it was past dawn but yet they were waiting to meet this prince. Jon heard a knock on his door and he stood up promptly to answer. It was Ser Arthur Dayne. He nodded at him and beckoned him to follow.

An old man with white hair, scarred face and strong built wielding a long axe provided them the pass.

A series of outdoor rooms sprung from stairs led them to a terrace. The terrace offered views of pools. Prince Doran was seated in a wheelchair wearing an orange silk tunic and a splendid blanket over his legs. Probably to hide his gaunt and stuffing legs. Prince Oberyn Martell seated beside him surrounded by an orange tree and a pergola providing another layer of privacy and sound isolation.

"My Prince" Ser Arthur greeted the man. The Prince gave the impression of naught that Jon pictured. He imagined the man to be a little older than Oberyn and similar like Arianne but he was far from that. He emerged as a man past sixty namedays with grey hair and beard. Soft and gaunt, nothing sort of like his younger brother or beautiful daughter.

"Ser Arthur Dayne" The Prince greeted back with a subtle nod and gestured to them to sit. Arthur and Jon took their seat in the redwood chairs. "I am sorry for your loss, I hope Sunspear was kind to you" Jon could not hold his scoff at that.

"This is my nephew, Jon Snow" Ser Arthur introduced him bitterly to the old prince.

The Prince studied him for awhile that made him uneasy. "So you are the son of our Lady Ashara Dayne and the honourable Lord Eddard Stark"

"I am, my lord"

"Just a flower from honourable seed, nothing more" Prince Oberyn quipped,

"Why, Ser Arthur is one of the most honourable men I have met and the reputation of Lord Stark's honour knows no bounds" _Because I fucked your daughter and it may not count as honorable in your eyes. Or maybe it does._ He's a Dornish after all, Jon reminded himself, though way past his virility.

"Ser Arthur and honorable?" The cunt of a prince gave an incredulous look before chuckling "Well, brother of mine, our bannermen would tell you different, not me but, mind you" _Ah, there he is. The bastard. _Jon wanted to return back about what he would know about honour? A man who fights with poisons but Ser Arthur had warned hum to choose his words carefully. He left the word unsaid that he didn't need his help to fend off Oberyn.__

"Humility makes great men twice honourable, Oberyn. You would surprise how much honour Ser Arthur might have" the eldest prince politely said.

"Honorable men do not settle for lives of regret" Prince Oberyn bristled and looked at him "do they?"

Jon's temper flared. What was he trying to say? "If honor were rewarded, every one would be honourable, is all," Jon would wager that Ned Stark will better die ten thousand deaths than wound his honour. But his honor compared naught against his sister's love. Maybe family was everything, Jon just has not one or he is not honourable.

Oberyn grinned whilst Prince Doran gave him an advertant eye.

"It takes less time to do a thing right, my prince, then it is to explain why you did it wrong" Ser Arthur Dayne said diverting their focus on him.

"Your reputation is what people know about you, Ser" _Yes and we saw how well reputed he was_. "It would do us no good to dwell on each other's honour"

Ser Arthur agreed with a nod.

"Speaking of reputation" the whoremonger of a prince again started, "Ser Barristan Selmy, your former brother is Kingsguard, still. I felt the urge to remind you, Ser. I have heard down in the North past the Neck; from Moat Cailin to Castle Bkack, the southern affairs are not much talked" Where had he heard that Jon wondered. Ser Barristan Selmy was the most known knight of the Seven Kingdoms, even ahead of Ser Arthur and Kingslayer. He's not mocking Arthur by bringing Ser Barristan, no he is outright hinting that he knows about northern lands and it's affairs. Or, maybe he wasn't.

"Then you are in false assumption, my Prince. I very much know about that and, I always believed it is better to displease people from doing what is right, then to please them for a moment by doing what is wrong" Ser Arthiur said, _Could they not just speak in any simpler words._

"If you do not mind me confirming Ser, Oberyn tells me you and your nephew are travelling free cities for a certain purpose?" _Certain purposes, indeed_. Jon knew not a bit what the Martells were upto but one thing was as clear as the Dornish skies, that they knew him and Ser Arthur were planning to meet the Targaryens.

The question was did they know who he was? If so, then why were not they doing anything? They probably don't, Jon concluded. Elsewise, he wouldn't be sitting in the terrace of Water Gardens watching fountains and fucking the Princess later on.

"Yes, my Prince, we are planning to join a sellsword company seemingly Golden Company or any other perchance, if not then we would return to Winterfell" Ser Arthur smoothly said. There was no hint of shock in both the princes face. _Just a moment ago, he said Ser Arthur is honourable and now he scarcely bothers hearing Ser Arthur's intention to join a sellsword company._ Jon reflected Lord Stark had once said him, _in honourable dealing you should consider what you intended, not what you said or thought_

"Then please allow us to help, Ser" the old Prince said "you need not to find the docks at Planky Town and see what manner of ships lay at anchor as it happens one of the trading galleys had recently docked at Water Gardens"

"My prince, I-" Ser Arthur was interrupted,

"You are our guest, Ser and a fellow Dornish. We ought to help you" The Prince insisted.

Ser Arthur reluctantly nodded.

"Captain" he called the axe wielding guard "we would be as kind to summon the other captain"

"As you say, my prince" His voice was of rough foreign accent.The white-haired captain was dressed in a copper scales shirt and a billowing cloak of dun and yellow sandsilk.

Soon, a man wearing a cloak of yellow and blue feathers emerged from the door. His skin was as black as polished jet.

"This is Quhur Mo, captain of the _Cinnamon Wind_ out of tall trees town" the Prince introduced the man. "And, captain. They are Ser Arthur Dayne and his nephew Jon Snow''

"Well met, my lords" His voice was also different and not similar to the gruff captain of the guards.

"Are you a Summer Islander?" Jon heard Ser Arthur aske the man.

"I am, Ser" _Summer Isles _. The land south-east to Westeros. He'd heard only a few things about the place.__

"So have you come from the Summer Islands?" Jon asked the man curiously and felt stupid to ask such. Of course, he had come from Summer Isles.

"This is so, my lord-"

"Jon" he said "Just call me Jon Snow"

"As you say, Jon. I am indeed from Summer Isles, Walano Island more precisely, but you see I am a traveller. I sailed east at Old Town and now here in Dorne, then at Lys and further to Quarth and across the Jade Sea to the Lands of YiTi"

Jon was in wonder now. Sailing across the Known World appeared as more fun and exciting than sitting in a castle.

"The Golden Company would probably be in Myr or Lys, right now" Oberyn announced "It looks like fortunate are in your ashore. I told you Jon Snow that fate oft meets you on the road you take to avoid, looks like my prayer was answered" _More like you wrote my fate._

"And, I told you as well that sometimes different road less to same castle"

"We would see that" _yes we would._

"The captain is also our guest, here. You only need to tell him when you intend to depart" Prince Doran said meaning back into his chair.

"If it pleases, my Prince them we shall depart on the morrow" _What?_

"So soon?" Oberyn asked,

"We had already pitched tent longer than we needed to, my Prince. Our coins are also not sufficient" _More like you planned not to let me wander free, isn't it uncle? More's the pity. I got this night still and I plan to wake you up all night. Consequences be damned._ Jon mused.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, probably at Lys then Volantis.


	18. Jon X

Ten days of casting anchor made Jon exasperated. The last few days were easier said than done to pass by. In previous sail he'd traveled from White Harbor to the shores of Starfall on _Merry Midwife_. That was a pleasing voyage to say the least. He had company of Devan and his flocks but in _Cinnamon Wind_ he was left all alone. As sick as a parrot. _Cinnamon Wind_ itself was a huge trading galley unlike _Merry Midwife._ The ship consisted of a hundred and seventy oarsmen and ten each of sailors, archers and guards marking a crew of two hundred men.

After his alluring bide at Sunspear, Jon was bored to death, obviously the people of Summer Isles would appear dull. Captain Quhur Mo and his sailors were all Summer Islander. They were dark people, black of hair and eyes with skin as brown as teak or as black as polished jet. Tall, strong and graceful. Most of them would ignore him. Ghost presence also didn't help any better as they would gossip everytime the direwolf passed by.

The matter got worse as Ser Arthur was adamant towards him to learn about histories and cultures of the Free Cities and even the ancient Valyria. So for most of his time he would be locked inside his cabin reading books. Piles of books were showered upon him though Jon was not sure where Ser Arthur got all those books from. Jon scarce was a prominent scholar except for now how he wished he was. It was apt for him to know about Seven Kingdoms and Free Cities; their trading ways and warfares. Back in Winterfell, he was always occupied with swords and horses. How was he supposed to know that he was a son of a dead prince? Would that he knew so he might have been more engaged towards all the history that Ser Arthur loves talking about.

Be as it may, but the trip was not all that dreary. He got breaks to properly test his blade with Ser Arthur as it happened back in Dorne, from Starfall to Sunspear, he seldom got any chance. The people would gawk at Ser Arthur and guards would line up to contest with the knight. In the ship it was different however, there were only ten fighters in the galley and they mostly carried morningstar and axes. Sparing with them was equally fun.

The archers in contrast gained his most attention. He had befriended an archer, more like Ghost befriended, Malthar Qo named after _Malthar the Windrower,_ as he likes to call his so called Prince of Koj or whatever the place was. A new era of exploration and trade had begun as the great ships struck out across waters, dispatched by Malthar 'the Windrider' Xaq, or so the archer claimed. Jon intensely listened to his tales about Walano, Jhala, Isle of Women, Isle of Birds, Isle of Love. The Islands lacked iron, tin and other metals but what they didn't have were compromised by gemstones, spices and hardwoods. Such as the Summer Isles were rich in emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and cinnamons and peppers (the latter two were in huge excess discarded to Dorne), and blackwood, purpleheart, blue mahoe, golden heart, pink ivory, riverwood and other very precious woods. Almost every wood the ship carried to Qarth and YiTi were unknown to him but magnificent to look at nevertheless. Whoever shall raid the Summer Islander ships would be beyond with luxury, Jon concluded.

He noticed the bow the archers carried were different. They were not normal bows. The bows they carried were made from golden heart woods, far outranged any other bows and Malthar claimed they could pierce through mail and boiled leather and even a good steel plate.

The war were also distinctive in the Summer Isles. Malthar told Jon that a war in Summer Isles seldom lasts longer than a day and there were no crops destroyed, no homes put to torch, no cities sacked, no women were to be raped. Jon didn't doubt that as half of the guards of _Cinnamon Wind_ were women themselves. Only southern women are weak enough to be raped. Warrior women like the Mormonts of Bear Islands and Sand Snakes would not be that easy for raiders.

But, the most intriguing tales of the Summer Isles were about their gods. To honor their gods, the people of Summer Isles; be they rich or poor, male or female, high born or low, all Summer Islander would share their bodies with anyone who desired them. _A whoring island_. Jon mused. He would have tried his luck with the few women on the ship only if it weren't for Ser Arthur keeping his eye on him every damn time.

As Jon was lost in his thoughts when he heard Ser Arthur slipped inside his cabin descending down from the wooden stairs.

Jon put aside his book. He was at the time reading about _Remnants of the Dragonlords_ by some Archmaester Gramyon. The cabin was an adequate sleeping deck with lancets that permitted abundant daylight. Ser Arthur joined him across the table.

"We are about to ashore" The knight informed him.

"About time" Jon released a sigh of relief, he slept worse when he had a deck rocking beneath him, and the sighing of wind in his ringing was a harsher sound to him than the howling of cold winds in the North. "Not that I want to travel in this ship any longer than I have to but wouldn't it be better if we sail to Volantis directly from here?"

Ser Arthur gave him a reproachful look.

Jon raised his hand in his defense "Tis' just what I thought"

"Then you should stop thinking for now" His voice was sharp. "We shall take our depart from this ship"

Jon only could nod though he was simpering inside. The tales about Lys were even known in the North and if he went by the books he read then it seemed like a paradise.

They climbed to the main deck together. Ghost beside him and Shadow was in the lower deck.

He beheld the sight of deep blue-green sea waving and fishes could be seen if observed closely. The water had been giving a hard time coming through the Stepstones but now the flurry had dropped and the Sun hung high in the sky behind the clouds drawing a silver lining.

Ser Arthur had reported to the Captain about their desire to depart. Jon knew Arthur didn't trust the Captain and righteously so as Captain Quhur Mo was hired by Prince Doran for their voyage so doubtless the Summer Islander would report the Dornish Princes wherever they depart.

The Free Cities used their own coins distinctive to each nine of the cities. They had exchanged with a couple of silver stags. The coin used by the  
Lysene were oval in shape and a naked woman stamped on them, the native love goddess of Lys, as the Captain called.

From the deck Jon gazed as the peninsula jutted above the sea, rising solitary and sudden, it's windswept height visible miles apart. Jon gazed towards the colors shimmering in the sea and creating a beautiful reflection of the harbor stoneworks. Walls were raised before them, on the western shore where Sunset Sea plunged into Bay.

They had to circle some distance west before the Captain found a gap large enough to admit the ship. The mass of the _Cinnamon Wind_ stood outland against the sky along the pebbles beach.

The place offered mesmerizing views, and the slopes were precipitous to the north and west and only slightly more gentle to the east. The wars, quarrels and truces between the three cities of Lys, Myr and Tyrosh for domination over Disputed Lands and Stepstones were well reputed and in essence to that the three cities were infamous for hiring sellswords and he could see the fleet of ornate galleys that ruled the straits between seas. Jon wanted that fleet, all of it, and all the soldiers as well, albeit sellswords they might be.

What other options did he have? He wanted the Iron Throne, to be sure, but how could he achieve that. The Baratheons and Lannisters would not just hand him the throne and Jon knew very well that North would scarce support his claim unless Lord Eddard Stark vouched for him. Jon was not confident that Lord Stark could persuade them even if he wanted to. Why would they bled for a boy without any cause or rewards? But if Lord Stark did so then it would mean only one thing. _War_. A part of him felt greedy but the other part felt excited.

They went forth inside the city walls. Wide, straight cobbled streets laid like a giant tongue. They began to walk the alleyway. Up ashore, the land was more than marvelous. Houses were built of tiles and stones, with sharply pitched roofs and porches at the faces and roofs of bright colors.

Closer at hands, it was the bazaars and inns that ruled. Down passed the alleys, men were selling fruits, foods and vegetables in the carts and wagons. As the pleasant wind whirled, Jon could listen the chattering of people in a language that he could guess only as high Valyrian. The people also looked like Valyrians. Sailors and peddlers and merchants were of silver and gold hair, pale of skin and bright eyes. At Westeros, Jon and Arthur were easy to distinguish by, for their hair and eyes but here in Lys they were just another coin in a purse.

"Gods the place is splendid," Jon exclaimed in amazement.

"I can see" agreed Ser Arthur. He was dressed in a grey tunic and black jerkin accompanied by brown woolen breeches and boots. Dawn was sethead in scabbard clinging to his waist.

"So are you going to speak, Ser, or have cats got your tongue?" Calling him Ser was also difficult. For most of his life he'd called him Uncle now all of a sudden seeing him from part of his family member to his Kingsguard was disturbing. Regardless, Ser Arthur would always be a family to him. Blood or no. He had already departed with an awful goodbye from Lord Stark.

The Knight chose not to respond as he marched forward. Jon pulled reins on his horse and followed him. No matter whatever the place be, Ghost would always make people turn their eyes on him.

Ser Arthur halted his movement and Jon waited as well to let Ser Arthur speak. "We are being followed" His tone was weary.

Jon popped his head right and left "By whom?"  
There were sea of people in every direction. The bazaars ruled the place as the inns, markets and tarvens stretched far wide. A vast tangle of stoneworks painted with thousands of shades of colors with glass windows jutting and tapestries hanging.

Over the horizon stood beautiful manses like a great shadow, range of them receding into the blue distance, their jagged peaks sheathed eternally in the sky. Even from afar they appear vast and lavishing.

Ser Arthur beckoned him to not look around. "One of the travellers of the _Cinnamon Wind_. Doubtless the Martells had sent. I had expected." It didn't surprise Jon a bit. The Prince of Dorne had provided them little to no choice in a convincing lordlings way. They could not have refused him.

The older Prince left Jon unsettled. He seemed like a weasel upon his wheelchair. Gaunt and fragile yet he was the ruling Prince. Jon was convinced, if it were up to Prince Oberyn then a war between the Crown and Dorne would have happened way long before the Greyjoy Rebellion but for better or worse Jon could not say, Doran ruled Dorne, or so at least in name. He also particularly was not much curious about their journey, not like Oberyn was but then again Oberyn must have had already reported his brother.

"Do you think they had a hint of what we are doing?" Jon asked suspiciously.

"And, what is that you think we are doing?"

Jon paused for a moment, uncertain to respond. What were they doing exactly? _Nothing._ "What I meant to say was, do you suspect they'd known about us? _Me_?"

Arthur shrugged "If they did so, then we are lucky to have our head I would say, and perchance an alliance maybe in the way?" Jon was annoyed with the Knight. He was still fuming about Sunspear.

"Or maybe they might assume we are following the Targaryens" Ser Arthur Dayne guessed. _More's the pity, then._

Jon wondered aloud. "We should have done more than just dine and wine" To that Arthur lifted a skeptical brow but didn't respond. Jon pursed his lips instantly. He did more than just dine and wine. The final night stay at Water Gardens was straight stuff of his deeds.

"We better hurry to an Inn. Ten days of stew and porridge at the ship had made me queasy. Oh, and also our dear spy needs to get refreshed with some sweet summer wine" Jon suggested. Without turning backwards they headed inside a tavern.

Much to Jon's delight and Ser Arthur's dismay, the supposed tavern they went forth appeared to be a pillow house. That was strange in places like this, the pillow houses. Back in Wintertown, one could get a whiff of the stinking smell of sex at whorehouse miles ahead. Even in Dorne where whores and nobles were alike, the pillow Houses were not hard to distinguish. In Lys things were different altogether. Jon could not have guessed a wit that a well-built sizable building with wonderful tapestries and silks hanging in its wall and scilinating windows glasses would prove to be a whorehouse, no, a pillow house. The place was grand. A big room with large door across, much like any inn where foods and drinks were served. Beautiful women in very revealing dresses were roaming table to table here and there. Jon had withheld Ghost and Shadow to the stables.

They proceeded to sit at the table and Ser Arthur ordered for some food. A serving woman served them with cherry pies, salad of fruits, roasted porks and a flagon of white wine.

"What do you make of it?" Jon asked, taking a big chunk of roasted pork. The pork was sweet as flavors spread in his tongue.

"Of what?"

"Should we ignore the man or be done with him?"

"The question right now you ought to be asking is when will we depart for Volantis?"

Jon rolled his eyes, "Ser, when will we depart for Volantis?"

"When we are done with him" Just then an exceedingly attractive woman older than him approached their table. She had tangled hair like liquid silver and eyes as blue-green as the Sunset Sea. Clothed in fine loose blue silk that scarcely hid her large threatening buxom, the woman had a dangerous grin stretched across her pale glamorous features. She smelled of high heaven.

"Good men, you must be new in here. I have not seen you before" The whore said to them.

"We are from Westeros" Jon answered ignoring the glare from Ser Arthur.

"Oh, my lords would let me know of their needs" said the whore. _She is well spoken. ___

"My lords have no need of yours" Ser Arthur grumbled.

The whore scowled a bit before schooling her features with a pleasant fake smile."I am sure everybody has his needs elsewise you would not be here " _We happened to be here by mistake_. Jon thought. The whore approached near Ser Arthur and he winced a bit. Jon urged himself not to roar with laughter. Ser Arthur was the most handsome man that Jon had seen. The Knight was still elegant and graceful as ever and was not much older. The whore clearly had set her eyes on him just like many others before her but the knight would not be swayed. _His need is not what you can give_.

"Why don't you join us, maybe we can talk" Jon offered her. He dared not look at Ser Arthur. The whore smiled and took a seat. Jon offered her a cup of wine. The white wine was sweet like Arbour gold.

"It is said that across the Jade Sea they make a golden vintage so fine that one sip makes all other wines taste like vinegar" The woman remarked sipping her wine. Jon would love to taste such wine.

"Arbor is the best wine in Westeros, many say, though I love Dornish" _The Dornishman's Wife_ "Dornish Red, I mean" Jon clarified.

"I thought so. Ships full of Arbor are supplied in Lys as well."

"Tell me, my lady, is love necessity or luxury?" Jon asked her, curiously.

"Strange question you have asked, my lord. This is Lys the lovely. Love is all we have here, be it necessity or luxury, the only way that each can help the other" Jon pondered her words for a moment. Love won't help him for what he needs.

"Pretty words from your pretty mouth. I dare not imagine how sweet can you sing with that lovely tongue of yours"

"Oh, aren't you so full of beans" The whore giggled. Her blue-green eyes held a sparkle.

"So I have been told" Jon beamed.

She bit her lower lips, "I sing pretty well as one could. Would my lord want me to sing?" _Maybe. I would love to hear her sing The Dornishman's Wife, not Fair Maids of Summer._

"I told you already we are not here for what you assume we are, lady" Ser Arthur Arthur denied.

"To love and be loved is to feel the sun from both sides, my lord" The beautiful woman insisted. Jon nearly spat his wine. Ser Arthur stood up and eyed him before nodding his head and went outside. Jon understood what he meant to say.

"Your friend didn't like what I said it seems" She began to play with her hair.

Jon ignored her. A group of armed men were yelling and roaring with laughter. "Are they also new in here?"

"No they are our, uh, near regular visitors" The women replied "Sellswords, they are. Windblown"

A man white of hair and grey beards was the loudest of the lot. "That one's name is Dick Straw" Jon suppressed his laughter "and the one next to him is Pretty Meris" By the Old Gods Jon had no idea why she was called pretty. There was not a thing to be referred to as pretty about the large women. Blond of hair dressed in mail with dead eyes and a slit nose.

"Are they hired by Lys?" Jon inquired.

"You seem more interested in them rather than me" The whore complained.

Jon shrugged his shoulders "I am intending to join a sellsword company"

"They are mostly hired by Lys"

"What do you say, are they loyal?"

The women snorted "Loyal sellswords are as hard to find as any virgin pillow talker, though not impossible but hard to find nevertheless. With desired rewards and victories certainty they may be loyal but I wonder why a would-be sellsword is questioning about a company's loyalty"

"You wonder too much then" Jon replied. He took a Lyseni coin out of his leather purse and gently slid down towards her along the table.

"It would take more than that but here in Lys we believe in blood purity more than anything. You are a handsome young man. We mate beauty with beauty and produce more refined and lovely courtesans and pillow talkers. The old blood is very strong in you. A very rare quality outside Lys. I would be happy to do so" _Silver tongue bitch. I would not beget a bastard and leave the child to be a bedslave._ Jon felt disgusted.

"I am not offering you the coin to fuck" Jon reprimanded sharply.

"Why then?" The whore asked him, confused.

"What is your name?" Jon inquired,

"Tyara" The whore answered, "I am one of the last member of House Rogare." Jon have heard the name somewhere.

"Rogare?" He took the last sip of his wine.

"Yes, once a powerful noble family of Lys. They had close tied to House Targaryen as well"  
_Ahh, the Lyseni Spring_. Jon knew not much about it but he had read that the son of Prince Daemon Targaryens and Rhaenyra Targaryen, King Viserys Targaryen, had married a woman of Lys during the time of dance of dragons when he was held captive. That's where he had heard the name.

"Alright, Tyara. I would want you to tell me more about Windblown" She sighed.

The women went to talk about Windblown and it's leader, apparently some man going by the name of Tattered Prince. She talked about their numbers and the last contract on Lys.

"I could arrange a meeting with them, my lord" She offered him. Jon gently shook his head. He needed to head east to Volantis. Moreover, he not in least have coins to hire the sellswords anyway. He asked out of curiosity, was all.

"Perhaps someday. As of yet, sweeting, I must go somewhere else" Jon kissed her cheeks and bid her goodbye, promising to return someday and even help if he could.

The spy was gawking him still, Jon knew. He padded to the stables and fetched Shadow and Ser Arthur's brown destrier. The knight was nowhere to be seen but Jon knew he was somewhere closeby. He mounted atop his horse and pulled the reins of the other horse and slowly slugged ahead. Ghost was hobbling near him. A few distance further near a closed manse and a red temple looming far over the ridge, Jon halted his mount. He abruptly turned around to find a man on foot behind him a little farther. Jon descended down from Shadow and moved towards the man. Ghost already ahead of him. He was jagged in a brown gambeson and various colorful vair stripping across all over it. The man instantly began to act as though he was going elsewhere but unfortunately for him Ser Arthur stood behind the man. Sensing he was trapped the man attempted to flee but Ghost was quicker to block the way and Dawn was pressed against his neck like a lightning bolt. As Jon approached near the man, his pupils were wide and fear crossed his face.

"Who sent you?" Ser Arthur ordered. His voice cracking like a whip.

"Se..Ser..Ser Arthu-" The Dornish was stammering now.

"Who sent you?" The Knight repeated again.

"Prince O-Oberyn. Prince Oberyn had sent me" His voice was thick with emotion.

"Not Prince Doran? Speak truly" Ser Arthur pressed his sword harder. The man shook his head fervorously. His black eyes were glossy.

"Why?"

"I...I know naught, ser. My prince wanted me to report him where you'd go, is all." His voice was tremulous.

Ser Arthur glanced before sighing. "What is your name?"

"Poliver-" The man never got to finish as Jon drove his sword right through his neck. Blood spilled down as Ser Arthur backed away throwing him an annoyed look.

Jon shrugged. "What? This worm ridden imbecile would cease to be a problem, no further"

Jon crouched down and inquired in his pocket and found a sack of gold dragons. "Golds for old rope" Jon grinned. The knight sighed but made no move to rebuke him

"We ought leave this city at our earliest convenience" Ser Arthur suggested. Jon would've rather looked around the magnificent city and enjoyed the pleasant weather but he knew Ser Arthur was right. They were two strangers in the city who killed another one. No good would do them roaming in the city any longer so he had to reluctantly agree.

They left the poor man's body there and darted back to the port of Lys. To their great relief, a Lyseni galley was set to sail for Volantis. _Shayala's Dance_ , a trading galley owned by some Lyseni merchant named Salladhor Saan, and sailed by Captain Khorane Sathmantes.

.

When Jon first laid his eyes on _Shayala's Dance_ he thought of it as another _Cinnamon Wind_ , how wrong he was. Instead of an adequate sleeping deck with lancets permitting flicker of daylight and tables with scrolls and books laid over, all he found was piles of moldy straw to sleep with the stench of strangers in his nostrils. Where he had stews, beacons, porridge and summer wine to feed himself in _Cinnamon Wind_ here he got loaves of hard bread and disgusting stews and black tar rums. Arthur's explanation to all that was they needed to save their gold as much as they could. If it weren't for Ghost then Jon was not sure he would have even got the space he was given, for the ship was much crowded. Jon was again grateful to Ghost as the white direwolf had zealously guarded his wooden chest for the last two days since their departure from Lys and no thief would dare approach near a direwolf.

Jon was inside his provided chalet down at the lower deck. Outside, daylight was bleeding slowly towards dusk. Jon was sitting atop the straw, arm and leg crossed. Ser Arthur was somewhere outside. His mind was drifting towards the egg every now and then. The more he tried to forget the more it's visible inside his head.

The White Wolf showed up out of nowhere. His ruby red eyes were shining in the candle light. He was sniffing at Jon and tugging his sleeves. Jon was not sure what his direwolf was trying to say.

"Boy, you already had your meat" The direwolf had eaten his share of bacon. But the wolf would not listen as he again began to sniff at him. That was odd. Ghost was always quiet but now he was jumping and grumbling.

Then, he heard the sound. _Boom, Boom, Boom._ He figured out what the horn meant. Jon picked up his sword.

"Ghost stay. I want you to guard the box" Jon gestured at the wooden chest.

Jon paced up to the upper deck. Men were crying here and there. The sound was like the beating of a great slow heart and the oars moved at every stroke, a hundred men rowing.

"Jon" Ser Arthur called him. "We are under attack" That was the only confirmation he needed. He didn't hear what Ser Arthur spoke afterward.

The sky was purple and twilight was covering everything. A great cog was upon them from the north. The fog made the great cog almost invisible but as it neared the galley he could see it. The canvas of the ship was black and a long wooden pathway was laid between the two ships as the pirates in black and red and blue and green were bursting towards them.

A gust of wind tugged at his grey cloak. A jerkin of boiled leather was his shield. At sea, heavy steel was as likely to cost a man his life as to save it, Ser Arthur had advised him at White Harbor. It was time to test now, sword to sword in a wet deck. Jon thought to himself.

In a spur of moment the pirates came drifting through the twilight. Jon pushed himself onto the main deck. His hands reaching for his longsword as the crew began to stir.

The faint sound of oats lost in the rhythm of waves and shouts of the crew. The guards of _Shayala's Dance_ armed with pikes and clubs arrived at the scene. Ser Arthur besides him unsheathed his sword and the fight was already on its way.

A moment later Jon found himself down in the wooden deck. Instead of looking who had pushed him, Jon attempted to save himself falling from the deck to the cold sea beneath him. He had not come all this way from Winterfell to the hot desert of Dorne only to fall in the Summer Sea by some pirate. The edge of the deck shot out under him as Jon pushed himself up and started thrusting his sword left and right again. He fell into the crowd of chaos again. A sword came towards him from left, it was only due to his pure instincts that Jon was able to dodge in time. He whirled his body and slashed the attacker in a low vertical arc chopping his neck. More blood spilled in the deck. From the corner of his eyes, he saw Ser Arthur dancing around the raiders as if they were pieces of cake to him. _I am yet to outreach him._

A man wearing scarlet and velvet robes with hoods covering his face was guarded by three guards with spears. The way the guards were dressed Jon instantly recognized them as the slave soldiers, the Unsullied. The man they were guarding was a strange one. Jon had noticed most of the oarsmen or the crew of the galley were terrified to go near him. The man was holding some sort of chain in his hands and the locket emblem he was wearing was of stone carved. Jon turned around to find Ghost with blood all over his face standing sentry over the paveway that leads down lower deck to his shack. He stood silent as ever but ready to rip apart any pirate that dare get closer to him. Two dead bodies were near him no doubt finished by the direwolf.

More raiders started coming from the hull. A bunch of pirates were aiming at Ghost. Jon gripped tightly to the hilt of his sword and padded towards his direwolf.

The Pirates were very close behind him now. Jon continued to give ground as the ship was now shaking violently as many of the oarsmen were either injured, dead or retreating to protect themselves, and a man in indigo jerkin continued advancing towards him. Two more corsairs wearing black cloaks followed him. It would prove to be difficult for him to pounce on all three amidst all the people around and shaking of the galley itself. Two pirates holding axes attacked him. Jon could only block one as the other one nearly sliced his head but Ghost was already there for his Master's aid. Ghost jumped in the air and ripped the axe wielding hand of the scum. Jon finished off the other man ferociously slicing his forehead and turned around to find the pirate in indigo jerkin slayed by Ser Arthur. Dawn was shimmering in red and white. Ser Arthur silver-gold hair tangled and mixed with blood as was his face and his blue cloak.

"Fall back" Ser Arthur yelled. At the battle in Bear Island against the wildlings Jon would have ignored him but now forasmuch as he nearly died twice, Jon nodded eagerly and shrunk away running towards the inner deck. Ghost at his heels. He ran from a fight. The disappointment was very heavy on him but his life was more precious than his pride. He descended the wooden stairs panting hard. Fear was now creeping inside him. _What if we never make it to Volantis?_ Jon wondered would he ever see Winterfell again. Will he see the faces of Robb and Arya and Bran? The pirates had come to raid and take slaves. _I was meant to be a King, now I am about to get enslaved or worse get killed._ Jon wanted to laugh sensing his fate. Jon was now cabined, cribbed, confined, bound in to fear and doubts.

A ship is safe in harbor but that is not the purpose of the ship. Jon reminded himself. It sails through the storms and pirates and only then it anchors to the lands of wonder. _I must not be afraid of storms for I am learning how to sail my ship._ Ghost was peering at him with his bloody eyes. Jon gathered his courage and picked up his sword and decided to return to the outer deck. He heard loud clomping of footsteps. Jon in an instant grabbed the hilt of his sword and absconded towards the noise. He saw the same strange hooded man garbed in richly scarlet and velvet robes. Two of his Unsullied were flanking and one was notably injured, barely on foot. Six more corsairs armed with dirk, maces and clubs covered them. It was obvious as to why the raiders were after the man. Most of the travelers in the ship were commoners with little to no amount of gold in their possession. The strange man was draped in fine rich clothes and owned three or more Unsullied guards. Surely the pirates would see him as a feather in cap for the man was clutching a richly embroidered box tightly.

The cunts failed to reckon him hiding in the shadows. The niche of candlelight was dim enough for him to obscure. Jon aggressively shoved his longsword behind the neck of the one carrying dirk. He abruptly twitched his sword and went for the piggy nosed man with an ugly scar across his eyes. Ghost was already attacking another man beside him. The nasty looking corsair was holding a club. His stance was poorly executed. He swung his weapon viciously yelling. Jon just had to dodge the attack and thrust his sword to his torso up to the central ridge of his sword before snatching back. A raven was crying loudly amongst the heavy noise of men grunting and screaming. The injured Unsullied was finished by the pirate covered in mail. The other Unsullied one was on his knees already with his shield dropped on the floor and blood flowing all over his quilted tunics. The man in hooded robes, howbeit, was as calm as a millpond. With fingers clasped together he was observing the fight from around the corner and the crying Raven was on his left shoulder.

Jon gripped his longsword with both hands tightly and proceeded to attack the black haired raider.  
The pirate was larger in size and broad of shoulder armed with a mace with spherical head. The strength of man and force of the mace was so heavy that Jon slipped his foot a little yet he was able to hold the attack.

"Ghost" Jon yelled desperately on top of his lungs and once again just like before Ghost was behind the pirate taking a chunk of his leg.

The man dropped his mace and screamed laying on the wooden floor. Jon hurriedly cut his throat. Jon glanced at the man at the corner and nodded to him, without delaying a moment he bolted towards the upper deck looking for Ser Arthur.

The deck was full of blood and bodies laid all across. For a moment Jon feared for Ser Arthur but his Kingsguard was not well famed for nothing. Bathed in red with his sword soaked with blood and a shield on his left hand Ser Arthur stood fearlessly peering at others around. His violet eyes found Jon and there was a relief mirroring in it.

The great cog of the pirate was in full retreat. Jon stared around to find most of the oarsmen and guards carrying spears, shields and clubs. Some were visibly full of relief and others openly sobbing.

Jon approached near him. Ser Arthur dropped his shield and went to hug him. Jon was startled a bit. His own leather jerkin was full of blood. He noticed Ser Arthur's right arm was sliced badly and blood was pouring continuously.

"What was the thing you'd told me about the ship?" Jon asked lightly, despite himself trying to ease the situation around.

Ser Arthur chuckled again, surprising Jon. It was clear to him that the Sword of Morning would be truly alive with a sword in his hand. Jon wondered why in the name of the Old Gods did Prince Rhaegar left such a deadly knight to guard his mother. Surely the outcome of Trident would have been different. Jon guessed.

"I beg your forgiveness, your grace" Ser Arthur half pleaded. His voice thick and his eyes told how sorry he truly was.

"Do not call me your grace, Ser and you scarce would have known that the pirates would ambush the galley" Jon was quick to add.

"Still.." the Knight tried to press but Jon interrupted him.

"You are too hard on yourself. You did save me from that pirate and I am alive, am I not? Thanks to Ghost but, he saved me more than once' Jon acknowledged his wolf with a look of admiration.

The knight pursed his lips and nodded. They were seated near the quarter deck. Piles of bodies were being cleared and the crew was swiping the blood out of the main deck.

"You handled yourself well," Ser Arthur complimented quietly.

"Do not lie to me. I handled myself shit. Thrice... thrice I was nearly done for" Jon snapped. He didn't like how weak he appeared. He didn't like it at all.

Ser Arthur Dayne sighed. "You are just four and ten namedays old and far superior than most boys of your age. I saw how fast you swung your sword. Ghost or no, I say you fought better than almost everyone in this crew" _Not better than you. _Jon thought. _And never will I._ Jon realized he was not upset because he couldn't defend himself like Ser Arthur ,no, it was because of how vulnerable he looked without Ser Arthur and Ghost.__

"Many of the oarsmen are either dead or injured," Jon observed.

"Aye, t'is a pity. Our voyage will be delayed further"

Jon drank the fresh water from his waterskin. The man carrying an exquisite box whose life he saved earlier approached towards them. He placed his box down. There must be some valuable rubies and gold Jon thought, for the man always carried the box with him. He pulled off his hood and Jon took a good look at his face. He was past forty namedays with a chubby face, black hair and beard. His eyes were blue as summer sky and he was no good looker.

"Young man, I thank you for saving my life" His voice was not unpleasant but there was no hint of any emotion at his face. No smiling or scowling.

"Think nothing of it, ahh,.."

"Ghradin of Qohor" Jon was guarded instantly. Qohor he knew the place. The City of Sorcerers, it was said. Even in the distant North the place was well talked about.

"Well, met Ghradin. I am Jon Snow" Jon chastited himself. He was not supposed to say his full name. "It was not much of a problem" In truth it was. Both Jon and the man knew.

"We, Qohorik, value our life profoundly. The Black Goat taught us the one who saves your life should be graciously well paid. I am in your debt" Jon didn't want a Qohorik to repay him a debt. He glanced around and saw Ser Arthur staring at the man with weary eyes. Ghost had already left the place.

"Follow me" Ghradin commanded. Jon looked at Ser Arthur and nodded. The two of them followed the man to his cabin with a Unsullied trailing behind. Ser Arthur had his hands around the hilt of his sword the entire time.

The cabin was well furnished with a table, ink parchments and chairs slanted. Jon noticed a rich tapestry laid across the sleeping bed. A bunch of ravens were atop the table. Jon vaguely remembered the raven at the lower deck but now as he stared at them he realized they were bigger than any Jon had seen before. Almost as big as any hawk. A strange animal with silver hair and purple eyes was caged. _Lemur_. Jon knew at once. He'd read about it.

The man motioned them to sit. He took out a cloth from his leather bag. It was not a cloth only Jon realized. The cloth was only meant to wrap up the item beneath it. Jon knew it was a sword.

"Jon Snow" the man boomed,

" _Snow, Snow, Snow_ " one of the ravens shrieked. Jon was panicked now. The raven's ugly tone was no different from the crow of that dream.

"You saved my life even if you didn't have to. You proved your valor. Weren't it for you and your beast I'd have never completed my task. For that you have my eternal thanks and please do accept my precious gift" The man announced and laid the gift over the table.

Jon was uncertain whether to accept the gift or not. He reluctantly nodded and unwrapped the silk.

It was a longsword with a round golden pommel and a red ruby encrypted in its centre. Almost as dark a brown as the scabbard infolded the sword.  
The grip of the sword was adequate for him. The hilt and the cross guard were shiny platinum steel. Jon drew the sword from the scabbard and gasped. The blade was the darkest thing he'd ever seen. Black as _Onyx_. So black that it literally shines. The blade was smooth and Jon could see his own reflection from the blade. It felt so light in his arms as though it were nigh weightless and he felt some sort of aura emitting from the sword like as if he wanted to embrace the chaos that he was afraid of. Jon instantly put down the blade. Ser Arthur laid his hand across his shoulders and was ready to gut the Qohorik man if not for Jon holding him.

"Qohorik swords, knives and armors are far superior than any in the Known World. The smiths in Qohor have perfected the art of infesting deep color into the metal, producing weaponry of everlasting beauty. Only in the great city of Qohor, by the grace of Black Goat, has the art of forging Valyrian Steel been preserved and zealously guarded. It is equal to any Valyrian Steel" The man declared "and boy, only a handful of such swords are forged. It's a magical sword. Be aware. Forget gold this sword is more precious than any rubies or emeralds found in this world. It was supposed to be one of my two gifts to the person I am about to meet but if not for you I would not be standing alive. This is how I repay my debt"

Jon was left astonished. He gawked at the blade; the flutter, edge, central ridge and point of the blade was all shiny black.

Jon remembered about Qohorik weaponry. At _Cinnamon Wind_ , he'd studied the note of some Maester going by the name of Pol. After thrice getting publicly whipped and vanished from the city he had written the weapons in Qohor was forged by blood sacrifice; killing of slaves as young as infants. Magics and sorcery were used by the Qohorik smiths to produce steels to equal that of Valyrian freehold. Jon gluped. He was now not confident enough to welcome such a thing. Lord Stark would have surely been disappointed in him but he was not the son of Lord Stark. How many times he'd dreamt of possessing a magical sword like Dawn? Countless. Now that one is laid in front of him why was he hesitating? _I have earned it._ Jon told himself.

Jon seathed the sword standing up and clasped the sword around his sword belt. A bastard sword for a bastard. Jon nodded to the man. "I accept your gift"

 _Every good sword has a name._ Jon had told Arya. His little sister named her sword Needle. The memory brought a smile to his lips.

"Fire" Jon uttered. _For the brightest fire casts the darkest shadow._ "I name this sword, Fire"

" _Fire_ " The raven, who'd uttered his name, croaked and flew on his shoulder. His jaw clenched but he made no move to remove the raven.

The man chuckled "It seems to me one gift was clearly not enough for you"

"I don't…" Jon tried to assure the man. The lemur at the cage was making a faint noise.

"No. Take the raven. Animals choose whoever they want to. We don't have the power to force them. You ought to know that sensing your beast wolf" Jon was ablaze now. _This rat dare calls Ghost a beast twice_.

"Ghost" Jon snarled "His name is Ghost and not beast"

The man solemnly nodded."I will not forget"

.

Hours later Jon found himself in their given cabin. After the gallantry of Ser Arthur, the Captain personally thanked them and provided a good cabin for the rest of the voyage. Ghost was silently eating the meatloaf. Ser Arthur was attending his wounds. Jon had visited his horse and thankfully Shadow was unharmed. The raven was flapping its wings and roaming around the cabin. Jon laid the books and scrolls around the table. There was enough bloodshed that Jon could sleep. The candles were burning deep as he gazed at the flames. He had laid across the bed for hours. It was past the hour of the wolf.

Ser Arthur entered the cabin with a bandage across his arm. "You should sleep"

"I just couldn't," Jon admitted.

The Knight sighed and took a seat beside him. "How do you feel truly?"

"Nothing. That's the strange part. I feel nothing. Not an ounce of remorse after spilling blood. Not now, not back at Bear Islands, not when I killed the spy" His mouth twitched.

"Boys of your age are oft steady for a war but once they are into battle, once they survive a bloody slaughter then they would realize that wars are no songs, it's only then they know the worth of battle and blood" Ser Arthur uttered.

Jon scoffed "I hardly ever been interested in songs and knights. Don't enlighten me, Uncle. I am a Northern, raised in harsh land amongst harsher people. Our songs are even different from others. Remember Brave Danny Flint?"

A smile touched his lips. "I do remember"

A silent befall between them. "Where are we to find your sister and my family?" My family felt so queer in his tongue.

"I have been told they are sheltered inside the Black Walls of Volantis" Arthur replied.

"By whom?"

"My father, of course, before his death" The Knight answered somberly. Jon decided not to press the matter further.

"I am not confident to meet them" Jon confessed, his hands over his temples.

"You worry too much. Queen Rhaella is nothing like what people make of a Targaryen. You are a Targaryen. Are you mad?" The Knight questioned. _Who can say?_

"And Prince Viserys?"

Arthur sighed. "The Prince was always full of energy. He loved his brother and mother ferociously but his father held an influence over him" The knight admitted and Jon was suddenly weary. _Was he also as mad as his father before him?_

"I see. So he hates me?" Jon asked,

"What? Ahh.. no.. he does not" The knight was caught off guard.

"Then what? I know Arthur you are hiding something" The calm and composed Ser Arthur Dayne had a troubled look across his features.

"Jon"

"Speak. I command you"

"As you wish. Prince Viserys believes that he is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne and not you"

"What?" Jon nearly screamed. "He regards me but a bastard?"

Arthur kept his mouth tight and didn't answer. That was all he needed to know. This is wrong. Jon anxiously pondered.

For some reason Jon's mind drifted to the day he argued with Lord Stark. He had questioned Jon would he go to Targaryens across narrow sea and plunged the realm into war. Jon laughed. Ser Arthur's violet eyes bored into him as his eyebrow waggle.

"You must have heard the day before we departed from Winterfell, the day you told me about Rhaegar and Lyanna, the ears of Winterfell's walls heard Lord Stark yelling at his bastard" Jon cleared.

Jon's nose wrinkled "It was the day Lord Stark had asked me that will I sail across the Narrow Sea and meet the Targaryens? Well, I had replied I don't even know would they view me as bastard or trueborn. I reckon now that I got the answer"

"Daemon, listen to me. It is not what you think. Queen Rhaella regards you as a trueborn grandson, Ashara told me so"

"Did she?" Jon countered, "We shall find out soon, I pray."

_"Pray" _The raven parroted, flapping its wings over the table. Jon shuddered.  
__

"I want to tell you something else Arthur" Jon mumbled,

"I am all ears" _And, I am all tears inside._

"That day I spoke too much that I should have" Jon confessed, ashamed of himself. Though he was not ashamed of his behavior but as to the way he failed to convince his uncle. Deep down he knows Lord Stark would never be swayed against his friend no more than Arthur would be swayed by a whore.

"What did you say?"

"I threatened that I could put the lives of all his family if he didn't help me" Now he was truly ashamed. He had crossed the boundary with that.  
The grimace pulled across Ser Arthur's face only confirmed how unruly he'd spoken.

"You should not have said that" Ser Arthur added, "your best hope against the North is that they would not aid the Crown against you" The raven landed near his shoulder as Jon. Jon dug into his sack and offered the raven a handful of corn.

"Then, how?" Jon growled,

" _How, how, how" _The raven repeated. Jon ignored the bird.  
__

"How in the name of Old Gods will I ever win the throne? You tell me, the best chance I have is North and if they are not backing me then even the other Kingdoms, beside Stormlands and Westerlands, who might have hope to gain the throne would outright reject me"

"The Crownlands are fickle and so is Reach and the Iron Islands had just rebelled. The Dorne would never support the Lannisters. The Riverrun are always divided. The Vale would aid the throne in essence to the fact that Jon Arryn is the Hand of the King. The realm is not as united as you may think, Daemon. All you need is the support of Queen Rhaella and you'd see how many flies towards you like bees to honey" Ser Arthur muttered in a low gruff voice.

 _Was he stupid?_ Jon wondered. How would they land on Westeros and announce their presence without Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister marching their armies? He hoped Queen Rhaella must have formidable allies by now. And, this Viserys… Jon had to make him see the light. He's got the parchments and papers beside.

But Jon asked himself why? Why was he doing all this? Did he really want the damnable throne so desperately that he was ready for thousands of people to be slaughtered? He could answer neither yes nor no.

The raven shrieked, gaining his attention.

"You earned yourself a sword and a crow, today" Ser Arthur remarked.

Jon's lips curved into a smile despite himself. "Aye, and you earned us this cabin" They shared a chuckle.

"People of Qohor are infamous for their practises but their efficiency in arms could not be questioned" The Knight admired.

"I hope so" Jon smirked.

"You could never expect when you would face your enemy, only the dead are free from that"

"I will always remember" Jon swore. Truth be told every time he holds his new sword Jon feels the sudden urge to hear it sing and him dance along with it.

"You better. For our journey starts now" Ser Arthur Dayne warned him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, the update was a bit delayed.  
> What is Jon Snow without a magical sword and a talking crow at his shoulder?  
> Qohorik blades are well famed so instead of a Valyrian sword I gave him another sword. The Qohorik priests is an OC and would prove to be a significant character in some particular chapter later on. Next up is the old Volantis.


	19. A Dragon is Born

**A Dragon is Born.**

  
  
  


**Arthur**

Revulsion. That was the feeling Arthur was experiencing in the new Volantis. They arrived in the city yesterday near dusk. After a long twenty days voyage they had at last reached the place referred to as the First Daughter of Valyria. Inside the city walls, they rode past guildhalls, markets, winesinks, holdfasts and bathhouses. Fountains splashed and sang in the centres of wide squares, where men sat at stone tables, moving _cyvasse_ pieces and sipping wine from glass flutes as slaves lit ornate lanterns to hold the dark at Bay. Monuments stood at every junction and palms and cedars grew along the cobbled streets. "The first daughter of Valyria, the Queen of Rhoyne and mistress of Summer Sea smells like an old whore" Daemon had declared.

  
  
  


The combat against the corsairs and a long travel left Arthur very exhausted. And to add more misery, the sullen wet heat of Volantis sapped his strength and left him feeling dirty. The crew of _Shayala's Dance_ had dispatched the body of the corsairs into the sea, after the sailors had stripped the dead pirates of boots and belts and weapons, divided up their purse and wretched the gemstones from their ears and fingers as compensation for the damage of the ship. 

  
  


Twelve oarsmen had died at the battle and ten more were all in all injured and out of that six more perished in the first week itself thus prolonging their voyage to twenty days.

  
  
  


They were presently taking up residence at an Innkeep to the western side of the city. The flicker of sunlight broke through the orange windows in the Innkeeper's house. The room was customary with a ruffled bed and brimming awful stench. Several candle lights were placed atop the holding of the ceilings. The squeaks of rats could be heeded. Empty tables and cupboards filled up the room. The carpet beneath was also not of the finest quality but then again it was a guest lodging provided to many guests so it was obvious as to why the curtains were dirty. A doorless entryway led him outside to the balcony and that was perhaps the only good thing about the inn. The splendid views of the western side of the Volantis was what the terrace offered. The patio where Arthur stood was at the topmost floor of the building which jutted high above it's surrounding buildings. His shoulder slumped as Arthur released a tired yawn. From the balcony he gawked at the fishmonger's square. He could make out people rushing far and wide, and shadows swallowing the ground as it happened the various shades of blues and coppers and green tents were stretched out. As Arthur peeked to the other side, the long bridge came into the view. The bridge that joined the eastern and western Volantis. _And beyond the bridge is the Old Volantis._ Over the far bank of river Rhoyne. _We are coming, Ash._

As the birds began chipping in the morning mist, Arthur pondered how things were going strangely just as he would have wanted to and also not the way he liked contemporarily, with the only exception was the unfortunate encounter with Prince Oberyn but somehow Arthur had to agree it also went queerly alright. At _Merry Midwife_ he'd advised Daemon about the significance of Dornish and how the heiress of Dorne could be a logical suitor to him in order to sway the Dornish as his allies. He'd dearly hoped Daemon would act rationally and listen to his advice but what he didn't expect was the boy to literally engage himself with the heiress of Dorne. Not to say, him remaining at constant odds with Prince Oberyn. Arthur could not deny Daemon's not so insightful help however. Inadvertently, Daemon had helped more than he knew. Although he didn't see the way Arthur wanted him to but as of now everything seems to be favouring them even the altercations in the ship. Someone had to humble the boy and the raiders did exactly that. The boy was way too impatient. Arthur for some reasons blames himself that he hid a lot of things from Daemon when he didn't want to but, in point of fact, the tendency of the boy was the major reason for him to hold out against himself.

  
  


Meeting Prince Doran was also another good thing. Arthur is sure that the Prince of Dorne suspected that he might have an inkling of the Targaryens' whereabouts. By now, they will know he had changed his ship at Lys and in time they would also know about Volantis. The tales of the sailors whispers far and wide, and seemingly as the white direwolf was influential and attraction henceforth Doran and Oberyn will surely hear about that as well. In any case, Arthur was not concerned much about them. For sure by the time the tale reaches their ears Daemon and Arthur will have already accosted Queen Rhaella. He was hopeful that Dornish would eventually side with them regardless of Rhaegar and Lyanna.

  
  


_Rhaegar_ . He had not given much thought about his friend in a long time. Things were different when he was just a Kingsguard and a good friend of the Prince of Dragonstone. Those were some of the happiest times of Arthur's life. Last time he'd seen his friend was before his departure from _Tower of Joy._ Lyanna had raged, screamed and cursed him for all the red mountain to hear. After the death of the Starks, Lyanna was so subdued that Arthur could not bear to see what was becoming of her and Rhaegar left her with a promise to return. _Which he failed to keep._ The truth was harder to swallow but it was what it was nevertheless. After the trident he could not even look at her steely eyes and deliver her the news of Rhaegar's defeat. The willful girl that had disguised as a mystery knight at Harrenhal, the same spiritual girl was so broken with grief that she didn't even survive after childbirth. _She was half dead already after the news of Trident._ Truth be told, Lyanna's death was more painful to him than that of Rhaegar. He had to witness that right in front of his eyes. Many a times he have had terrible nightmares about the same place. _Promise me._ Arthur recalled it was a miracle in itself that she was successful in bearing a son. 

  
  


Arthur upto this day wondered how Rhaegar had failed. His Prince was many things; a loving son to his mother, an excellent scholar, a well trained knight and the best monarch Westeros badly needed. He had included different plans for his kingdom once he would gain the iron throne from his mad father. He had arrangements to reconstruct Summer hall, establish good trade business with the North, built more roads for trading, uplift the people of flea bottom and many other things he brought forth to him and Princess Elia. But as the saying goes, _even the shiny moon has a dark side._ And Rhaegar had his flaws. A single flaw more precisely. _Prophecies._ Rhaegar believed greatly in his prophecies. Now Arthur was not hesitant to admit that it was madness of Rhaegar in its own right. The dragon prince was confident that he'd have three children like Aegon and his sister-wives who shall bring the forgotten glory of House Targaryen. _Dragons._ For that, he had even recovered a dragon egg and was looking for two more. His marriage with princess Elia was not a happy one. _Elia._ Arthur more than once had mourned for the poor feeble princess. She didn't deserve what Rhaegar brought upon her. Many a times he'd cursed his friend for that. Regardless, Elia agreed to help Rhaegar in his madness but after the birth of the sweet and cheerful Princess Rhaneys she could no longer beget him more children leaving Rhaegar heirless. For a brief time, he'd even forgotten about his prophecy and shared the joy and grief with his wife. He was more focused in dethroning his royal father. For that, Rhaegar had secretly schemed to hold the grandest tourney of all ages and hoped to summon a great council amongst the noble lords of Westeros to gain their support and dethrone his father. After the defiance of Duskendale when Rhaegar was sure of his father's madness, he had covertly funded wealth in the Iron Bank of Braavos doing so under the table of his father and Lord Tywin Lannister, then Hand of the King. The Tourney of Harrenhal was his idea and he'd personally subsidized but alas his plans could only get that far. King Aerys for the first time in ages after the defiance of Duskendale had left the Red Keep to attend the Tourney pouring water all over their dreams and Rhaegar found the she-wolf and regained back his prophecy. Even after everything got disrupted he still had his plans. Rhaegar had convinced Arthur that if he were to fail then it was his duty to take Lyanna to Braavos. Rhaegar still had some wealth in his vault of the Iron Bank. Before leaving for Kingslanding, he'd given him the parchments of the Iron Bank and the dragon egg.

  
  


Arthur shook his head. It would do him no good to ponder about the past. With cool water from the basin he washed his face and stripped his sword around his leather belt. He didn't wear his woolen tunic because the air was so sweltering even in the morning. After leaving Water Gardens Arthur had suffered the small pox all over his face for a couple of days which seemed to greatly amuse Daemon to no ends. It was also surprising that the boy didn't share the same fate as his as taking into the matter of fact that Daemon had never been anywhere else but the chilly North yet he was nigh at ease around the heat with only a light tan gracing his skin. _Maybe it is due to the bloodline._ Arthur guessed.</p>

Down to the Inn he made his way. The inns were mostly crowded after the twilight so the place was silent as a grave in the late morning. As Arthur was reaching downstairs he spotted Ghost near a cranny. The white wolf was laying in the wooden floor mute as always but with garnet eyes studying everything around him. Subsequent to the day Daemon found the wolf after paying the visit to the deserter of Night's Watch the wolf had seldom ceased to amaze him and ever since their skirmish with the pirates Arthur was now truly sure that Daemon was meant to have the wolf. He approached near the wolf and heard Daemon's voice. Arthur peeked through the velvet curtains and saw Daemon seated on a red couch leaning forward whilst the Innkeeper towards the other couch across him. Bracket pendant lights were across the room and he noticed Daemon and the Innkeeper were playing the game of _Cyvasse._

Arthur inched near them and the Innkeeper was the first to see him, "Be welcome, Ser. Please be seated. Your nephew and I are enjoying a good round of _Cyvasse"_ The man had smiling blue eyes and plump lips. His hair was short pitch black and a clean shaven oval face. He was wearing a long grey and red tunic with long flowery embroidered sleeves and Arthur noticed a pouch to the left side of his stripes. He took a seat beside Daemon.

Daemon inclined his head and looked at him momentarily and then back to the board. Different pieces of ivory and jade were scattered all over the board. His catapults and trebuchets were forward whilst the light horse and elephants surrounded the King.

"He is quite good at it in consideration to the fact that he'd begun playing the game not even for a moon longer." The Innkeeper acknowledged with a cheerful smile. And, it was true. After reaching Sunspear and spending time with the Princess, Daemon had taken a whole lot of interest in the game. For the first sennight he didn't enjoy the game but after their time in sea he was obsessed with the game. He would not stop talking about the game.

  
  


"Not good enough to beat you even once in five rounds" Daemon complained. He strode his catapult forward. He always wants to win everything. Arthur reflected.

The man chuckled "You ought to play more often than not to beat me. We, Volantese, are the founder of this game. We play this everyday with whomever wants to. Here are _cyvasse_ parlor as well" He slided a piece and from what Arthur could make the piece looked like a crossbowmen.

"And what other things you Volantese are good at?" Daemon questioned marching his rabble.

"Oh various things. You see we are the most powerful and wealthiest of the free cities" The Innkeeper beamed but Arthur took his words for welp salted and Daemon voiced what Arthur was thinking.

"I heard differently. Tis' said Braavos is the most powerful and wealthiest of the free cities" Daemon denied, again moving another piece on the board.

"People believe what they are wont to" The plump man snorted, "I say the hundred Isles of Braavos could be dropped and disappear in our harbor"

"I couldn't help but agree with you on that" Daemon agreed, placing his dragon forward, "People believe what they are wont to" The man's smile faded like a morning fog.

"How different is the other side of the bridge?" Arthur asked the man.

The man studied him and answered "Oh very different. Most of the places are older and designed by the Dragonlords of Old. Most notably the Black Walls where even to this day Valyrian gods are worshipped and only a man with a significant presence of old blood can go inside and seeing you both I reckon you may be able to." 

"Any other things?" Arthur pressed further.

"Well, inside the Black Walls you have faith of fourteen flames but outside it is all Rhillor, I fear." 

  
  


"What do you mean?" Daemon inquired although he never left his eyes from the board.

  
  
  


"Why, on the other side you have even more slaves than here. The triarchs have their own slave army of more than four thousand and there are the servants of the Red God. The temple of Lord of Light is guarded by an army of slaves known as the _Fiery Hand._ They are the slaves of R'hllor. Their numbers are exactly a thousand or so it is told. It's high priest is Benerro. They mostly burn slaves as a sacrifice to their Red God. Trust me in this good sers, you do not _want_ to go near them" The Innkeeper warned them. The man was so busy talking that he didn't see Daemon winning the game.

The man looked at the board and chuckled. "Clever of you to bring the topic and mislead me"

Daemon gave him a smug look "You need to win however you can"

"True words however winning a game is not everything" The man cautioned with a cordial smile. Arthur had to agree with the man.

"Yes, winning is not everything" Daemon nodded and then smiled which was anything but cordial "it's the only thing"

After that Arthur and Daemon broke their morning breakfast with barley bread sliced with delicious red jellies, blood red pomegranates, honeyed biscuits and cupful mint tea. The food provided in Volantis was even better than the food he was used to at Kingslanding. 

  
  


They had a mild discussion afterwards. Daemon didn't want to leave his belongings at the innkeep but Arthur refused. Arthur advised it was not guaranteed what waited ahead so it won't do them any good to carry all their belongings with themselves. Daemon was very much protective about the chest he received which was a good thing. Ever since Arthur told him about the papers, which Daemon scarcely bat an eye at first, were in fact the papers of Iron Bank of Braavos issued by Rhaegar he got a whole lot possessive of them. He reluctantly agreed to leave their clothes and chest but not without commanding Ghost to guard it. Arthur had to agree on that. Although the innkeeper appeared a kind friendly man one could never guess a person's hidden thoughts. They could not afford to take risks now. Also an albino direwolf freely roaming in the streets of old Volantis was not a good sight for them especially after they had been warned from time to time about the all so fire embracing priests of the red temple and two Dornish Princes up at their heels.

They rode in a hathay towards the Long Bridge. _Hathay_ , dwarf elephants pulled by slaves. An interesting way to travel. 

Arthur was digesting the vast scenery Volantis offered. Arthur had observed that any of the statues in Old Volantis lacked head. He gaped at the set of iron rings fixed hard into the other wall. They were meant to chain up the slaves. Arthur's nostrils flared seeing the iron rings. He could see them almost everywhere in the city.

Daemon beside him was mildly intrigued.

"Oh my, the captain and the innkeeper sure weren't bragging" Children with swollen bellies were fighting over pieces of the stinking fish. That disgusted Arthur. His face pulling a grimace. No one should suffer like that.

  
  


The captain of _Shayala's Dance, Khorane_ Sathamantes, had told them that there are five slaves to every free person. Arthur was not convinced at first but observing the slaves he couldn't deny the claim. It was a slave city for sure.

"So it seems" Arthur commented, he pressed his lips together.

The big crow that was gifted to Daemon by the Qartheen priest was sitting at Daemon's shoulder silently for once. Arthur didn't know what to make of that. By just looking at the crow terrifies him a little and then there was the sword Daemon carried at his waist. _Fire._ Fine sword but…

"Ever wonder how much of an influence slavery have in these free cities" Daemon interrupted his thoughts. 

Arthur frowned. He didn't know what he meant by that. As far as he could recall the free cities they had traveled were Lys and this. While in Lys the slaves were mostly escorts but in Volantis such was not the case. Most of the slaves marked by their tattoos were labours. They were bought to do the bidding of their masters. They had briefly stayed at Lys but the number of slaves on the docks here in Volantis alone were way more than they had seen in their entire time at Lys.

"What exactly do you mean by influence?"

  
  


"The books you brought me didn't tell the whole truth" Daemon shrugged, "look at all these people with their head bowed silently obeying everything they are ordered to do. Dare I say, even the bastards and commoners in Westeros are treated far better"

"Is that pity I hear?" Arthur still was not getting why bring the topic.

"None" Daemon snorted, "I don't find it in my heart to sympathise with them. Just looking at them disgusts me"

Arthur himself didn't like the situation of the people but feeling disgusted at the mere sight of them was not his cup of tea.

"Why so?"

"I just hate people who look down on themselves" Daemon answered nonchalantly.

Upon his further questioning looks. The boy sighed, "I was no different from them back in Winterfell," _What?_ "I still remember clearly the day when Catelyn Stark and others looked at me with hate burning in their eyes…." _Oh so that's what he meant._

Daemon continued, "They sure did look down on me, didn't they? Ser Rodrick. That damn Septa. Even the guards. I remember Ser Arthur. I remember playing in the cold summer _snow_ at the outer courtyard of Winterfell when we were just eight. Robb, me and little Sansa. In the brief child innocence of mine when I tackled Robb in the cold snow. Snow. I hate this name. Laughing and throwing snowballs. They said I always had the _wolfsblood_ like my uncle and mother" Damon let out a short harsh laugh, "and that day I paid the price"

Arthur was now intently listening as the hathay reached the long bridge. He didn't quite remember the story. Arthur earlier in Daemon's childhood mostly just trained little Jon. That was it. The education was taught by Maester Luwin. He did sometimes take him on hunting in wolfswood or visiting wintertown. He himself was mostly engaged earlier at Winterfell. Adjusting his new life. The cold looks he got from entire residents of Winterfell was not easy to swallow. He had to engage in his own duty until Jon had come of age. Little Jon mostly spend his time with little Rob and Sansa. 

"The guard, what was his name? The one who died drunk from the watchtower? Wade? Yes, Wade you remember that one uncle?"

Arthur nodded. Wade. He remembered the old captain of the guards brought by Lady Catelyn Tully from Riverrun. A tall grumpy man who was as much hostile to him as Ser Rodrick. Fortunately, that one died after one night getting excessively drunk falling from the towers. Whispers were flying in Winterfell. Some joked about him. Some even whispered that it was Arthur who killed him.

"As me and Sansa were enjoying the view of Robb on his ass on snow. That captain rushed to the courtyard. Upon seeing his little lord dusted by a bastard. That man snapped. He kicked me right at the stomach. And further went to slap me twice. Yelling 'You shouldn't lay your filthy hands on your liege, bastard'. Sansa was crying. Robb was dumbfounded.."

"What?" Arthur nearly yelled, ablaze now.

"Quickly Lady Catelyn arrived at the scene and for once did a good thing and stopped the guard, but not long before thanking him. The crystal cold blue eyes of Lady Stark terrified me as much as that enraged me"

"Why didn't you tell me? When did that happen?" Arthur was fuming now. Hurting a child when they were playing. "I would have killed that bastard right there. Stark be damned"

  
  


"I as well," Daemon answered softly that he almost didn't hear.

Arthur paused. _What did he say?_ Arthur titled his head and looked at Daemon. His face was blank.

  
  
  


"For two days I could not get why that happened to me. The next night none could get what happened to him. I pushed him from that Bell tower. He was completely drunk" Arthur was left speechless. _Eight. He killed a man at Eight?_

"After finishing the guy, people talked. They even joked how weak the captain was getting killed by his own self. Some said North was too strong for him. That did bring embarrassment to Lady Stark and a smile to my face" He grinned widely, "After that I wonder why none of the people in the courtyard came to pick me up that day. I had to drag myself to my room and lock myself. I soon found the answer. That I am a bastard and bastards are meant to be hated, wasn't it?" 

"No..no..it's" Arthur tried to talk but was interrupted again,

"Don't lie" His expression hardened. "Bastards and weaks are meant to be oppressed. I didn't like that. I could not very well change my bastardy at that time as no one told me I was some hidden prince like Sansa's fairy tale. So I had to reject their answer. I had to be strong. Strong always devours the weak. Like how Robert Baratheon killed Rhaegar Targaryen. Like how Aegon Targaryen untied the six kingdoms,

  
  


"Therefore I became strong. I didn't give a single fuck what people thought about me. Care about what other people think and you will always be their _prisoner_. People were weasels to me, they still are. I never understand them. Is it wrong to be weak? Everybody loves strong men. If I had to drink a mug of ale, swing my sword through someone's belly, and fuck a whore senseless to be a man then so be it. I did all that. To prove everybody I am strong,

  
  
  


"I am a man. I don't fear anyone. After killing that guard I felt .... I felt … so right" Daemon was struggling to speak now, " I had long forgotten that part of my life. But when I was nearly killed by those corsairs fear returned inside me. _Fear cuts deeper than swords_ and I was weak again"

  
  
  
  


Arthur was shocked to hear him speak like this. It looked like a whole different person. Not the energetic playful boy he was used to. It was a boy full of hatred, vulnerable and lost. _So much hate. I really never understood him. He could have let those people look down upon him all his life and further demoralising affect him but he didn't._ Arthur was no good in raising a child. He himself was raised and taught to be a soldier through and through. The responsibility for being a Dayne and that's how he raised Daemon. He felt a deep shame now. All he ever did was put a sword in the boy's hand and just taught him everything he knew. At least Arthur had his mother and sister cheering him in his path. The boy had none. _Not even me._ Even times like when the boy was pushing him to know more about his childhood and his supposed 'mother's' home at Starfall he lied that Lord Dayne would never acknowledge him to shut him up. The only one who Daemon fondly spoke, if Arthur remembered correctly, was the storyteller Old Nan. The only one who treated him as a child. It made so much sense now. 

  
  


"And that's why" Daemon gripped the hilt of his sword. His eyes narrowed and full of venom, "I hate these people who let themselves be oppressed by those craven worm-ridden pigs who call themselves Masters and are as arrogant as any lordlings you will find in Westeros. Honestly this place is no different from Westeros. Always the strong devour the weak."

_"Weak, weak, weak, weak"_ the crow repeated,

Sweats were dripping on his forehead from the sultry heat or those words Arthur could not tell. Suddenly the hathay stopped. Arthur turned at front to find out they'd finally teach the great oval of Black Walls.

  
  
  
  
  


**Molaquo Maegyr**

  
  


Molaquo Maegyr the leader of the Tigers, a proud man well past fifty but still strong as a bull with short silver hair and dark indigo eyes like any Valyrian. When he was six and ten he had married his older sister Talisa Maegyr and handed down the seat of House Maegyr. But sadly his sister-wife died from her first child birth leaving him a son, Marquoro. Although Molaquo was tempted to marry again, he could not find any suitable valyrian bride. Molaquo was proud of his heritage. He held himself in high regard as one of the descendants of the almighty valyrians so only a bride of valyrian ancestry and a noble name would befit him. 

Sometimes Molaquo would wonder how an idiot like Marquoro was his son. His own blood and flesh. Molaquo was deeply concerned about what would happen to his legacy and family after he was gone. He had ruled Volantis for the past 30 years now as the leader of Tigers. It was only for his iron grip that the Tigers stayed influential for so long. If it weren't for him then the Elephants would have surely taken over Volantis and made it their slave trading resource or worse somebody else would have possessed the Tigers. He didn't have a penny of trust that his worthless son would continue his legacy. It even more disgusted him that Nyestros Vhassar being valyrian himself was more engaged in gaining the wealth through slaves by allying the Elephants with those insects of Slaver's Bay rather than directing more on gaining their long gone valyrian glory days. Molaquo held firm belief that the empire left by the valyrians of old must be inherited by its first daughter and as one of the most prominent houses of Volantis the duty befallen on his house. It was his only dream. 

By the grace of fourteen flames, the only good thing his son ever did was fathering his twin grandchildren; Nyestros and Visenya. Molaquo was very pleased with his grandchildren. They were the children he never had. Molaquo was sure that even if his time came his grandchildren would not fail him and continue ruling Volantis. He already thought of naming them as his heir. He certainly would have married the twins with each other if not for the golden opportunity came knocking at his door. _The Targaryens_. One of the lesser noble houses of dragonlords but still the last dragonlords. Molaquo scarcely saw Targaryens superior than Maegyrs but even he couldn't deny Targaryen were one of a kind. Yet due to their own idiocy they first lost all of their dragons and later their crown. 

When Queen Rhaella and her children showed up at Black Walls, Molaquo saw an opportunity for something greater. Something that never happened before. The old Volantis started _the century of blood_ to rule all colonies of the previous empire and Molaquo knows that was not possible now without dragons but his family could rule the sunset kingdoms. _Oh for sure they would._ Molaquo swore. 

His grandchildren played their parts in the grand scheme of things. Well, Visenya sure did. She succeeded in charming the boy king. He'd hope the same for the princess as well if only not for the dark hair woman at her side. Molaquo scowled remembering Lady Ashara Dayne. She was way too much protective of the princess than Molaquo would have preferred. It appeared to him that whilst Rhaella was more engaged among the triarchs the duty to look after the princess had befallen on the lady. That irked him.

  
  


But the princess was not his main concern right now. No it was somebody else. _Daemon Targaryen_ and _Ilyrio Motapis_. Visenya had reported him about the other Targaryan hidden in the northernmost kingdom of Westeros with Lady Ashara's brother. Viserys in his drunken stir poured that his nephew, whelped by a northern dog, have bigger claim to the throne and even Rhaella supports that whelp as a rightful heir. This was worrisome. Visenya was already betrothed to Viserys. It could not be undone. Molaquo now must settle this new contender once it and for all. But the boy has yet to reveal himself.

Another trouble was the cheesemonger Illyrio Motapis from Pentos. That fool Viserys was tempted by the magister. When news of the Targaryens getting an invitation by a magister from Pentos reached his ears it alerted Molaquo. _Somebody else knew._ The Targaryans ever since arriving from Braavos have stayed low. No one should have known about them unless he was betrayed by someone. _But who?_ Nyestros Vhassar was the main suspect. He would deal with the man later.

For now he's sent his own spies even before the Targaryens departed to know further about this Illyrio. His son Marquoro had suggested to tempt Viserys with gold for the fool he is but Molaquo denied. For now, he have to see what offer this Magister brings on the table and how did he know about them.

  
  


Thus as of now from his own spies, allies and his son, he'd come to know a great deal about Illyrio Mopatis. That man was a fraud with no noble blood. He was not even a Pentoshi. Upon learning about a man of common birth suddenly rising to power only raised his curiosity. How the cheesemonger gained so vast wealth was not his concern. No. It was why did he sent his invitation to Viserys and not Rhaella. _He knows who is easier to fool._

Molaquo has been told that the cheesemonger have friends all across the world from Westeros to YiTi but that was where Molaquo found the weakness. For all his allies he was but one man with just vast wealth. If push comes to shove Molaquo would deal the man easily. He may claim to have allies in Golden Company, he may know about those savages Dorthraki but he was all alone in Pentos with no significant allies. The Prince of Pentos was no friend of the magister after his second marriage to a bed-slave. Molaquo snorted in disgust. _Blood shows its colour._ Also from what he gathered from Magister Manolo, Illyrio was not much liked amongst the council of Magisters. _And, no one will miss him._

Speaking of Magister Manolo, the meeting between Rhaella and Manolo had reached his ears. Molaquo wanted to eliminate this Illyrio as soon as possible but he waited. He did want to cast doubts about Illyrio. He received news that Rhaella hired the Lysene sellsword to send a message of hers to an ally in Westeros. This piece of information picked his interest. _Monford Velaryon._ A loyal subject of House Targaryen. Molaquo assumed he would let that message be as it is. The Velaryons, though significant ties to Valyria itself, were not powerful enough to cause him trouble later. 

For the moment he was about to meet the Qohorik Priest Ghrazdin. The servant girl hooked his white tunic and attached a black mantle enclosed with red dragon on a quartered black and white field. The sigil of House Maegyr. He dismissed the girl and went to his personal cabin.

The priest was already there waiting for him. Molaquo observed he was wearing scarlet and velvet robes with hoods pulled backwards and a stone carved locket emblem. Upon seeing him, the priest stood from his seat to greet him. He quickly motioned the priest to sit and took his seat in front of him. His clothes were a little dirty, and his dark hair and beard unwashed. 

  
  


The priest was supposed to arrive a week earlier. Something must have happened. He noticed a flowery embroidered box besides the priest.

"So why were you late, Ghrazdin?" He didn't bother to greet the priest.

Molaquo with the help of some lower Elephant faction shepherds had previously provided many slaves to Qohor for their ritual blood sacrifice. He had established a good trafficking market with the priests of Qohor. Ghrazdin was one such. For his gracious help, the Qohoriks had promised him a dragon egg from the ghost grass of the mysterious Shadow Islands and the finest sword formed by Qohorik blacksmiths.

"Straight to point. Ah yes, I was not supposed to arrive this late" the Qohorik man said with a face that gave nothing away "but I was disastrously delayed by sea raiders. So.."

"Alright I get it and now out with it. Where are the presents?" Molaquo rudely interrupted the man. He didn't want to hear more from the magus than he already had to. _The bloodmages, necromancers, warlocks they are all heathens. Best not dwell with them._

The wizard nodded and slammed the box at the wooden table. He brought the chain from his hand and opened the box. Inside the box Molaquo saw it. A grey _dragon egg._ It looked dusty and old but it was a dragon egg. None could deny that. The outer shell of the egg looked sharp and thorny

Molaquo let out a faint smile. _This is it. The crown jewel I was always meant to have. With this my dreams must come true._ The priests had promised him they could hatch it with blood magic. _If that happens then in time I won't even need the Targaryens._ _The world shall know the name of House Maegyr._

His smile suddenly turned into a frown. _Where is the other gift? The sword._

"And where is the sword" He questioned sternly. The man still had the nerve to look bored?

"You should have let me finish my take first" the priest offered. Molaquo was getting annoyed with him but he gestured to continue,

"As I was saying the sea raiders delayed me. The voyage from Asshai to Volantis was not possible so I had to change the ship at Qarth and from there because of the excessive dangers of pirates from Balisks Isle we were bordered to Summer Isles and then to Lys and from Lys I got here. But near Lys the ship got ambushed. The Unsullied meant to protect me failed but a young man named Jon Snow and his beast saved me. Ghost the beast was called. A direwolf." Molaquo already knew what he was going to say next,

"So you gifted some nobody the finest Qohorik sword because he saved your life?" Molaquo was now incredulous.

The wizard nodded. He was at loss for words. This imbecile gifted his reward to somebody else. The sword meant for his house. The sword made by necromancers with god knows what blood sacrifice and spells enchanted to forge stronger than even valyrian steel. Molaquo stood irked and the emotionless blue eyes of the priest didn't help him any better.

Suddenly one of his spies appeared at the door. Molaquo nodded his head to come inside. His spies would seldom interrupt him if the matter was not of importance. And his spies didn't fail him. 

  
  


The spy reported him about two men from Westeros looking for Targaryens and were currently taking to Nyestros Vhassar. _This isn't good._ Nyestros Vhassar was already the prime suspect to work for Illyrio and now two more strangers seeking for Targaryens were talking to him.

_Who are they? How did they know?_ Questions ran inside his head. _Were they sent by Monford Velaryon?_ _No. That was was possible._ The Lysene pirate was told not to tell where the Targaryens were. _Also if somehow the pirate spill the beans for some gold then they would have gone to Pentos not here._ Molaquo was sure of it. _No, they are somebody else._ He wondered whether they were assassins hired by Robert Baratheon. _Assassins would scarcely come that easily._ And from what Molaquo have heard about the King of the sunset kingdoms, the man would have likely send a bulk of army already had be knew. Such was not the case however. _Then maybe they are sent by Daemon Targaryen._ He guessed.

He stood abruptly from his seat and locked the dragon egg inside the box and placed it safely inside the case. He then began to march towards Nyestros Vhassar's cabin to the other side of the wall. _I need to see them._ The Priests however halted him.

  
  


"Should his lordship grant me to rest then?" 

"Not now. Come I still have more things to talk about once we settle this." The Priest only nodded and followed him.

  
  


He reached the balcony. Three guards with spears were trailing behind him. The Tigers were always influential among the two factions in terms of arms-in-men. While the Elephants believe more on trade Tigers still held firm belief in the might of a sword. 

  
  


The cabin was two stores low. He noticed two guards were standing in front of the room. Upon seeing him one of the guards quickly reported his presence. Molaquo was shortly called inside. The priest followed him.

  
  
  
  


Nyestros Vhassar was seated at the end of a long table but Molaquo didn't even give him a single glance. He instead gazed at the two people seated to the right of Nyestros. The older one among the two was perhaps near thirty namedays and the younger was no more than eighteen namedays. The older one had silver blonde hair very much like Lord Vhassar himself, light beard and bluish violet eyes. _Those eyes I have seen beforehand._ He was a well-built man. Broad of shoulders and looked fit as a bull. The younger one looked a bit different but. Although seated, he appeared as tall as the older one. The boy had shoulder length pale hair and firm amethyst eyes. He was very lean. The most strange thing about the boy was there was a big crow at his shoulder which was gawking at him. 

He noticed both looked slightly surprised as he brust inside. They were not looking at him however. They were looking at the priest behind him. _Do they know him?_

"You...wha" The boy shuttered a bit pointing at the priest.

"Jon Snow" The Priest however was as stoic as ever "I didn't expect to meet you again so soon"

"Neither did I," the boy frowned, not pleased to see the priest at all.

_So they know each other. Wait Jon Snow?_ The boy who saved this pig and took his sword as a reward. Molaquo narrowed his eyes and glared at the boy. He could see the golden pommel of the sword with a red ruby at its centre. The hilt was platinum colour. 

"Ahh Lord Molaquo Maegyr. I didn't expect you to come to my humble shack. A welcome surprise but you could have just asked me and I would have come'' Nyestros smirked. Molaquo gritted his teeth.

"Lord Nyestros Vhassar" He greeted back sternly, "I had to come. You happen to occupy two of my guests" 

"My lord I didn't know they were your guests. They didn't mention your name" the trader responded.

"Because we are not" the boy again spoke and Nyestros threw him a smug look. "You seem to misunderstood something my lord but we don't know you"

"But I know about you Jon Snow" said Molaquo "You saved a close friend of mine" He gestured towards the priest "you and your wolf" 

"Ghost. The name of my _direwolf_ is Ghost"

The boy was a beastling. Molaquo was confident of that. He had a wolf to command and a crow was resting at his shoulder. The boy's eyes were rich purple. Like a valyrian. His facial features also were very sharp. On this side of narrow sea valyrian traits were not hard to find but on the other side it was rare. Plus a beastling was even rarer. _Who is this boy and his companion?_ Then suddenly it hit him. From what he gathered about Westeros, people of the North were known for beasts and beastling. The Starks. The sigil of their house; a direwolf. Lyanna Stark. Rhaegar Targaryen. The boy must be Daemon Targaryan or who else then? He arrived here looking for the rest of his family. The other man. The one they call the Sword of the Morning. Ser Arthur Dayne. _Dayne, yes. His facial features and his eyes are similar to Lady Ashara. Same shade. Blue violet._

Molaquo wanted to let out a satisfactory laugh. The boy that could have potentially screwed his plan revealed himself. The fourteen flames were truly blessing him. The magical sword meant to be an ancestral antique for his house which he just lost moments ago also begged to return to its rightful owner. He could have everything now but still the presence of Nyestros could not be denied. He might as well work for Illyrio. 

"Well are you willing to talk or just stare at me like a whore, huh?" asked the boy with a furrowed forehead.

Hearing the boy Nyestros chuckled. His nostrils flared but he let out a forced smile despite himself.

  
  
  


"My apologies, good men from Westeros. I just uh nevermind. My name is Molaquo Maegyr. Lord of House Maegyr" He jerked his hand forward to greet.

There was no response from them. He threw them a cold look. Seeing that, Nyestros motioned him and the priest to sit opposition them. Molaquo looked around. He had rarely entered this solar. Only twice if he recalled. The walls were plastered by pictures of various valyrian gods and there was a large portrait of a valyrian deity behind Nyestros.

"I have been told you were looking for their graces" Molaquo began only to be stopped by the boy.

"Their graces?" His eyelashes furrowed "You speak as though you are well familiar. Is it just acknowledgement to the title or any hint of alliance, I wonder" The boy peered dead into his eyes.

" _Wonder, wonder, wonder_ " the crow parroted.

"Wonderful creature you have there. And yes, King Viserys is betrothed to his grand-daughter, Lady Visenya. She is to be the next Queen" Nyestros mentioned. He was keenly enjoying the conversation.

  
  


Hearing that the boy narrowed his eyes. _He didn't know that._ The other man was still impassive.

"If so then forgive my manners, my lord. You see bastards like _us_ are not taught like highborns" said the boy. The crow perched upon his shoulder, preening it's black feathers. "and yes we did come here to greet his Highness and the Queen-mother"

"May I ask as to why?" 

The older man. Ser Arthur Dayne, as Molaquo was sure of, for the first time spoke. "We have not properly introduced my lord. I go by the name Aurane Waters. The bastard brother of Lord Monford Velaryon" _What? This can't be._

The former Kingsguard continued, "House Velaryon has always been loyal subjects of House Targaryen. Lord Monford wants _Queen_ Rhaella to know that House Velaryon are always with them. It was not possible for my brother to meet her directly without raising the suspicions of the Usurper's brother so he sent me instead and knowing you are related to House Targaryen we would very much like to meet them is all" 

_They are lying through their teeth._ Molaquo knew. He also noticed how the knight acknowledged Rhaella as Queen. He spoke like a proper nobleman. _A bastard, like he says he is, would have already started singing songs about the greatness of King Viserys like a lickspittle to get recognised._ The knight didn't even bother to address Viserys. He talked about Rhaella as though he knew her. 

  
  


"So you say but I would like to know how Lord Monford knew their graces were here? If he can so easily find them then so could the Usurper. Surely you can sense my concern?" Molaquo would not give them easy. 

  
  


The man's expression closed up. "Ah yes. Your concerns are reasonable but my lord we were informed by Queen Rhaella herself so their location is intact" 

No that wasn't possible. Rhaella had sent the Lysene pirate after the meeting at the manse of Magister Manolo in Pentos but Nyestros didn't know that and neither did Illyrio. They are hiding their identity. Molaquo could work with that. If he were to kill two people that were to be revealed as Daemon Targaryan and Arthur Dayne then it would cause him too much trouble but if two bastards suddenly disappear then none would bat an eye. Not even Nyestros or Illyrio.

  
  


"It appears though you are in misfortune as the Targaryens are not here" Nyestros brought out to them.

"What? So where are they?" Arthur Dayne sounded aghast.

"Pentos. They are in Pentos" Molaquo abruptly spoke. He glanced at Nyestros to see his reaction in this new reveal. The man didn't look surprised. His suspicions were more confirmed. The Targaryens had not let on they were departing to Pentos to anyone besides him and his family. 

"Pentos? Why would they be in Pentos and where?" inquired the knight. Judging by his tone he didn't believe them. 

"I am afraid his grace didn't properly enlighten us" Molaquo faked an apology. _Now what will you do?_

  
  


"So Ghrazdin it may not concern me but you didn't tell us why are you here?" The boy changed the talk. He was now looking at the priest.

The priest gazed at the boy for a moment and answered, "remember I told you about the gifts I was to give somebody? It was him Lord Maegyr"

The boy turned his head towards him and looked at the hilt of the sword. The red ruby was shining and for a moment Molaquo thought he would return it. But he didn't even so much as to apologize for stealing his sword. 

  
  


Nyestros cleared his throat and gained their attention."Might I ask now what are you going to do?"

"You sound very interested in us my lord. Why is that'' Nyestros paused. Now it seemed the boy was about to lash at Nyestros. 

"I am just curious is all" 

"Curiosity is such a _bitch,_ wouldn't my lord agree? As the saying goes…. Noooooo" the boy suddenly yelled standing up startling all of them save for the priest. The crow flew away. The guards outside the door quickly entered with spears raised.

" _Ghost_ " said the boy, "Ghost is in danger I can sense it" 

The other knight stood as well trying hard to calm the boy "Jon what happened? What happened to Ghost?"

"I don't know but Ghost is in trouble. Believe me we need to leave. _Now_ " the boy growled and was about to leave all of a sudden. _Ghost? Isn't that his wolf?_ Molaquo thought. _This boy is a beastling no wonder he can feel his beast and to think Rhaella approves such monstrosity to be the next King of the Sunset Kingdoms._

"Wait Jon we need to know about her grace" Arthur Dayne tried to reason with the boy but the boy didn't listen.

" _To hell with them I care not where they are_ '' the boy declared loud and clear before leaving the room. This only made him more happy. _The beast must have been hunted by some peasants or maybe the followers of R'hllor wherever it was._ The way the boy dismissed Arthur only made him believe more that he was indeed Daemon Targaryen and soon he would no longer be a burden. Molaquo had often heard about Targaryan's egoistic nature and temper. He had seen it firsthand in Viserys while Rhaella did have a temper but she could control her emotions better. This boy though he was what Molaquo always imagined what a Targaryen looked like. Wicked tongue, lack of respect and ego as big as the long bridge. Molaquo mused. Although more cunning than Viserys, Molaquo would grant that but it won't matter now.

Arthur Dayne turned towards them, "My apologies it looks as though our friend is in trouble we have to go but I will return to know more about her grace" He bowed and hurried away before any of them could respond.

"The boy was enraged," the priest told no-one in particular.

"So it seems. So it seems" Molaquo was ecstatic now. The boy will die before sunset and nobody would know. One less threat and he would have his sword back. He left the solar to look for his well trusted captain of guards.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Daemon Targaryen**

  
  
  


Pain. He could feel it. Like someone was thrusting a knife onto his flesh. It happened all so sudden. His direwolf was in danger. He knew. Daemon was closely bonded with his horse and his direwolf. He could sense their pain. It was ugly and he hated to be in such a position.

  
  


Daemon ran through the corridors. He went past a bunch of people stumbling. He cared for naught and the only thing running inside his head was he needed to get to the inn as fast as he could. Now was not time for the talk. The Targaryens weren't here, what's more to stay there? Arthur was wrong. It was all a waste of time. Either that or the men were lying. He had told they should have brought Ghost and their belongings together but he didn't listen. Jon scowled. He had told Arthur so. Arthur tried to act smart. _Maegyrs._ Arthur told him what his sister had written him about House Maegyr. He was only being cautious, Jon knew but he needed to blame someone. That damn innkeeper. If something really happened to Ghost then Jon swore he will peel the skin of the mutton and his entire family. And then _burn_ them alive. Just like he wanted to do the same to the weasel in front of him that denied him a horse.

Jon quickly took his dragger and killed a guard on the gate, slitting his throat. The weasel died pathetically. He climbed the horse and started galloping. He thought he might have heard Ser Arthur calling but Jon didn't care. He rode ahead.

  
  


The sky was as orange as the oranges of Water Gardens, and the crowd fell soft and steady, muffling the sound of his horse. He rode south, away from the black walls, following a rutted path across the road and into the inns and bazaars kicking the stolen horse to a brisk heedless trot until the colorful tents closed in around him.

  
  
  


_Too slow,_ he was panicking now, _I am moving too slow._ The damn horse was as weak as a weasel. It was no Shadow. The heat was getting unbearable. His golden locks nearly blocking his sight. Right then Jon would want nothing more than to cut down the damn locks with a knife. But he couldn't. His hands were fixed on the reins. 

Something was closer to him and it was irritating him. He realised it was the crow flapping its wings following him as fast it could. Jon was yet to name it. He must think something of a good name. If he was being honest with himself, he liked the crow. Although it reminded him of another crow he'd seen in his dream but still the way the crow would parrot his words. He liked that. He would need to get inside the bird as well. Like Shadow and Ghost. After all the bird is his companion now as much as Ghost and Shadow were. 

  
  


His arse was sore, his body aching, his thighs were hurting, he thought to himself, and the saddle was rubbing him raw inside his legs, and besides he had not got some proper sleep. The brawl with the pirates left him drained. He didn't like the sea. Jon concluded. Since leaving Winterfell he'd been only moving. From White Harbor to Starfall sailing through the narrow sea with Devan and his boys, and Starfall to Sunspear in the extreme heat and desert alongside a cunt of a prince. Although Jon wasn't whining as he did enjoy the good fuck between the ride and mouthful wine more than he should have consumed. He remembered _Arianne_ and _Tyene._ Jon wondered what they were doing right now. _Probably fucking someone._ He badly needed a bottle of Dornish Red. He was so tired that he thought he might have fallen from the saddle. But no he can not fall, he must not fall. He had been riding horses as long as he could remember, ponies when he was little and later horses. Riding through the vast wolfswood. This was nothing compared to the brambles and briars and tangles of underbrush, broken ground and treacherous pathway, buried roots and hidden stones of the North. No this was nothing. He again kicked the horse and pulled the reins. Riding right through everything that stood in his path amidst swarming beggars, strolling whores, and fishwives crying god knows what. He didn't care about the woman who misshapen to be in his way. Injured or likely dead judging by her scream. Jon hoped it was the latter. It would be a mercy. Getting hit by a horse that was cutting through wind was not a good experience. Jon thought to himself. He also didn't care about the slaves carrying carts. _Insects._ _The others take them. Best they get out of my way._

  
  


_I won’t let anyone harm Ghost_ , he swore, reaching back over his shoulder to touch the hilt of the sword that the Qohorik priest had gifted him. _I won’t._

Jon had to laugh when he recalled the face of that old man when that ugly Qohorik told him the sword was supposed to be a gift for him. _I earned it._ Besides Jon loved the feel of the sword when his fingers threaded through the hilt. He was yet to use it but Jon sensed he would soon. He didn't like the old man that was gawking at him like whores in wintertown. The man was troubling. Jon could feel that. Call it whatever one liked, but the more he warged inside Ghost the more he began to see things differently. His hearing and sightings were tremendously increased. He could smell better. By every time he would warg inside Ghost it felt as though he was losing something. He just didn't know what. 

Jon was so busy in thought he didn't realize he already crossed the bridge and was already inside the new volantis nor did he realise Ser Arthur was trailing behind him seeing everything he destroyed in his path. 

  
  


He finally reached the inn. Jon jumped off the horse stumbling. His knees twerked a bit but he ran nevertheless. He went past the ground hall. It was empty like in the morning. It was noon already. He climbed the stairways and he saw the innkeeper's wife lay dead there. Her throat slit, clothes ripped apart. By the looks of it she was probably raped. Blood was streaming down her throat. Jon's mind went racing. _Just what happened here?_ The place was dead silent. The only noise was his boots drumming with the wooden paths. He rushed towards his room. The bedchamber was dark and still. The first thing he noticed was a small body burnt. It was the innkeeper's daughter. She was only ten namedays not even flowered. Her body was not recognisable. Smokes were whirling all over the body. Jon inched near and touched the poor thing. It was still hot. Only then he noticed Ghost laying there with stabs all over his belly. His mouth fell open as he rushed towards his direwolf shaking. The direwolf's eyes were closed and white furs were all over the floor. Jon tried to wake him up. Jon shook his body but he got no response. _He can't be dead._ Jon was screaming now. He wanted it to be a bad dream, but he did not remember dreaming.

He failed to notice Ser Arthur. The knight was standing there motionless. Jon was furious. He glared at the knight. 

"The fiery hand. By the looks of it. There are three bodies over there" The knight gestured towards the opposite doorway and indeed there were three bodies with red cloaks and marked tattoos. They slept on the floor at the foot of the door, rolled up inside their cloak and dead to the world. He never hated somebody this much. 

Jon went towards them and stabbed again and again with his dragger. Blood was all over his hand and clothes. Arthur was failing to stop him.

"They are already dead. No good would do that to you. _Stop it_ Daemon" the knight yelled on top of his lungs. It was true. Ghost had already shredded them into pieces. 

"We need to find the box whoever took them" It was only then Jon halted. He remembered the box. The box containing dragon egg and the Iron Bank papers. Jon wandered his eyes all over the room. He reached the bed and searched beneath it but found nothing. 

"Ghost. He's not dead. Daemon, he's _alive_ " Ser Arthur cried. Jon snapped his head so fast that his neck hurt. He got to his feet.

" _Alive, alive, alive_ " the crow screeched,

"What?" His ground his jaw 

"He's not dead. He's still breathing" Ser Arthur was carrying him on his hand. "Have a look" Jon approached him, eyes near bulging. He could hear his wolf breathing, soft and steady.

"We… we need to find a maester. We must" Jon was shaking now.

But before the knight could reply he heard footsteps. Jon was alerted. He quickly drew his sword. 

"What happened?" asked the knight frowning.

"Did you not _hear_? The footsteps. Someone is coming. No, more than one" 

"I don't .." Wind sighed faintly against the shutters.

"Shhhhh" Jon shushed him. Soon the steps were resonating. He took Ghost and wrapped on the bed.

Ser Arthur drew _Dawn_ from its sheath. Jon held _Fire_ with both of his hands.

  
  
  


He leaned against the stone still and looked out for them. _Whoever they might be they are not leaving this place alive._

  
  
  


He didn't have to wait long. A sinewy man with a round shield slung over his back stood outside the door. Followed by another man with a spear in his hand. Then another and another and another. They came marching. Jon was already upon them. And death leapt down amongst them.

He cut down the first man, shoved past a second, slashed at a third. From the corner of his eyes he saw Ser Arthur dancing with two swords in his hand. 

  
  
  


A big brute was ahead with a huge axe in his hand aiming for his head. Jon nearly died when the beast of a man swung his axe. The man slashed Jon's face from forehead to his right cheek as Jon winced but held his ground. The sharp edges of the axe just barely touched his skin yet he felt the pain. He twisted like an eel and wrenched away from the man-beast. He cut down the man in half. Blood gushing from his torn belly.

  
  


There were curses, shouts, howls of pain. The soldiers or sellswords whoever they were jabbed with their spears as Jon darted between them. He showed them no mercy. _Fire_ was feather-light. He was enjoying the feel. Blood was all over his body. Two more again. He was quick to cut down. Again another came only to die. He kicked the groin of another. The man screamed but Jon silenced him quickly.

He finished the last man and saw the floor was full of bodies. Ser Arthur was panting hard. When Jon saw him he gasped. His right leg was badly slashed and he was on his knees. Three bodies laid near him. 

  
  
  


He again heard more footsteps. Jon cursed.

"More. They are coming again" He spat blood from his mouth.

"You need to leave. _Now_ " Ser Arthur gasped. He was clutching his leg. His hair was all covered in crimson. _He looks_ _like a Tully now._ Jon mused.

They knew they could not overcome this. Ghost was not moving. Both of them out of their breath. They just couldn't go on like this anymore. Jon leaned against the wall. 

It again felt like the end of him. The sounds of those pathetic people moaning in pain were irritating him more. There was no hope. All of this just felt like a bad dream. Just like last time in _that_ ship where pirates overwhelmed them. 

_Fear cuts deeper than swords._ He chanted that like a mantra inside his head. _I am not weak._

He gripped his sword tightly unlike in _Shayala's Dance_ he won't run. He had tasted blood already. If he were to die then he would die with a sword in his hand. 

"What a shit way to die" Jon sighed as he brushed his face where blood was raining.

  
  


"Daemon listen to me. You have to leave. You must" Ser Arthur pleaded, "I can hold them for you"

"No you can't. Stop lying" Jon growled. He didn't like the thought of leaving the knight who he viewed as his uncle all his life. He knew the knight wouldn't leave him if the roles were to be reversed.

"I don't like this but I won't abandon you after everything you did for me. I know you don't like the way I acted all these years. You wanted me to be like my _father_ but time and time again I disappointed you, still you were there for me always" His voice broke. The corner of his mouth twitching.

"No. Daemon you're not right. You never disappointed me" the knight smiled weakly clutching his kneecap. Jon was a bit surprised hearing that, "Yes I had wanted you to be like your father but long I came to accept that you are not Rhaegar. No, you're your own man. You are Daemon Targaryan and I like what you are. I like hearing your lame jokes and japes. I like teaching you swordplay. I like how you always want to win everything. Rhaegar was my closest friend but I raised you. I saw you grew up. Not the best way but still…. and after what you told me earlier.. know that I am proud of you. You always move forward, isn't it? No matter who stands in your way. Like what you did to Wade right?,

  
  


"Maybe you were right. Strong always devours the weak. That's why Rhaegar lost but you must not. You are strong, aren't you Daemon? You said so. So I want you to leave. You must not fail like Rhaegar. I am but a Kingsguard and a very shit one at that" He chuckled lightly and coughed, "I failed raising you properly and I am failing to protect you now. Forgive me but you need to move _your grace._ Like you always do" Arthur choked. His voice was thick with emotions. 

  
  
  
  


Suddenly the sellswords swarm them. He spied longswords, dirks and daggers, a brace of throwing axes, mail beneath their cloaks. Their hair and beards and faces marked most for men of the Free Cities. They were all dressed in a fine scarlet ringmail as if they were a unit and not a bunch of sellswords. He saw the sigil of quartered dragon in balck and white field. He had seen that before. Somewhere. _Maegyr._ Jon realized. That _old bastard._ He saw the sigil in the bastard's black mantle. The same one. 

  
  


They were already blocking the exit way. They couldn't escape now. The only way was to jump off the rooftop. Jon glanced back at the Ghost. He saw the wolf was awake but barely. Trying hard to stand on his feet but failing miserably. Those ruby eyes were watching him. Jon saw what appeared as tears on those eyes. It pained him to see his companion, his wolf like that. 

He now knew he was truly fucked. He had to either fight all of them and get killed. Or he could save Ghost and run. Leaving Ser Arthur. 

Jon made his mind. He grabbed Ghost from the bed and launched right through the windows. _Forgive me Arthur._ The glass shattered and he went straight to the tents below. His whole body was aching. Legs throbbing and his arms felt heavy. Jon was barely standing. He had to run. That was the only thing in his mind. He rushed towards the stable looking for Shadow. His sword somehow still in his hand. But no sooner he reached he was blindsided by somebody. He fell onto the stone and Ghost was freed from his hand. A dark cloth was wrapped around his head and darkness covered him.

  
  
  


Jon opened his eyes as he felt water splashed onto his face. His eyes squinted and slowly he opened them again. He was seated on a wooden chair. White tiles covered the ground and the place was roofless, it looked like a courtyard. The sky was grey. Where _am I?_

He saw a shaved head man standing, he was tall and thin. The most prominent features on his face were the slave tattoos of flames covering his thin cheeks, chin and shaven head to make a bright red mask that crackles about his eyes and coils down and around his lipless mouth. Seven more people were behind him with hoods pulled all over their faces. 

Beside the man was a very attractive woman with a huge bosom. She was slender, graceful and tall, with full breasts and narrow waist and a heart-shaped face. Red of hair, red lips, high cheekbones and a red gown. Even her eyes were red. This _woman is all red._ Closer to him was a brute of man. Ripped and muscled. He was shirtless. Bald headed with the same tattoos. His jutting red-black beard glistened with oil.

"Daemon of House Targaryen" _How did they know me?_ Jon was aghast. _They took my box. Surely they would know who I am by now._ "Be welcome. Long have we awaited you,” said the lipless man. His voice was powerful. "We are the high priests of the Red temple of Volantis. My name is Bennerro, the Flame of truth and Light of wisdom" The priests of red temple. The one responsible for hurting Ghost and stealing his property. His lips trembled. Anger coursed through his body. But he could do nothing. His feet were as weak as grass. And he was without a weapon and that brute had his eyes fixed on him. Thankfully Jon was not in chains.

"And I am Kinvara. The high priestess" the woman introduced herself.

"Is this how you welcome your guests?" Jon offered instead distastefully. They already knew who he was. There was no point in denying. How they knew them was another mystery. Did the old fuck told them? Daemon guessed Molaquo Maegyr already knew about them. The way he was gawking at him the entire time was another story. He also sent men after them. Either he knew who they were or he was the enemy of House Targaryen. Both were worse. _Arthur.._ he couldn't believe his knight was dead now. There was a snowball chance in hell he would survive. But these sons of bitches surely weren't working with that bastard, were they? He heard how the priests and those behind the black walls were at constant odds with one another. His mind was reeling. 

"Not a pleasant way we agree but we had to meet you" the woman spoke again. Jon glared at her.

  
  


"You fucking attacked me, took my property and injured my wolf who's probably dead. You will pay. You all will. Even my uncle is dead because of you" Jon growled. _The audacity of these worms to stand there after everything they did._

"We were wont to" The priest replied calmly which infuriated him further but Jon didn't take any step. He calmed himself, gritting his teeth. _I can not run right through him._

"For whom?" Jon demanded. His fingers were curled into a fist. 

  
  


"All shall be revealed soon" the woman replied instead, "also we saved your life. You ought to be grateful for that"

  
  


"You're telling me you saved me from those guards?" Jon remembered being blindsided by someone. Kinvara nodded. _So first these priests invaded the inn, injuring Ghost and taking away the chest and then a group of guards sent by Molaquo Maegyr attacked us._ Jon was frustrated. _We shouldn't even have come here in the first place._ _Ser Arthur, Ghost, the only evidence that could prove him as a trueborn. He lost them all._ All these because they were here to meet his _family._

Jon had an inkling as to why these priests stole his box. _This Bennerro said he was waiting for me._ _Could he be a sorcerer?_ Jon didn't doubt that peering at his appearance. _Either that or they wanted the dragon egg for themselves._ After all who wouldn't in his right mind want a freaking dragon egg. It was simply to put, priceless. _Also these priests are fond of fires._

He didn't understand why that silver haired bitch wanted him dead. Jon was doubtless those attackers were his. In Jon's mind everything looked like a great scheme meant to kill him. Those slave guards. These priests.

Why would that man send his men to kill him? They had told the Maegyr and that slave trader they were just bastards sent by Lord Velaryon. Their lie was perfect. It was Arthur's plan. He didn't believe anyone but Queen Rhaella and his sister. So what went wrong. Did his own family betray him? Who was he kidding... _Family? I don't even know them. I haven't even seen them_. _To them I am just a reason their dynasty fell. The fruit of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. I would also blame myself if I were in their place._ Jon thought with despair. Arthur told him Viserys believes himself King. Nyestros Vhassar and Molaquo Maegyr said the same thing. The Volantise even confirmed Viserys was about to marry the granddaughter of Molaquo. _Seven hells._ Jon's eyes were wide as he grasped the clue. _The Targaryens were in Pentos, were they not? Arthur and I were invited to Volantis for naught._ _This was a trap all along._ By laws of gods and men, he was the King, from the Targaryen lineage at least. _So they made sure to remove me._

Jon laughed like a maniac. His laughter even made his hosts a bit uncomfortable.

"Something is amusing you?" The priestess asked, clearly disturbed. He stopped laughing. By chance they happened to just attack me as well. Ghost didn't let them steal the egg so these imbeciles saw it fit to nearly kill him. Jon decided he needed to make them suffer for that. But right now he couldn't do anything but dance in their tune. 

  
  
  


"What do you want with me, slave girl?" He questioned her back, not bothering to answer her. Hearing him the woman chuckled. It only annoyed him further.

"Slave girl? Do you not see I am but a woman older than you" _I can see those teats._ Jon thought to himself. But that didn't matter. All that matter was he must find some way to kill them all and escape but to where? "And yes a slave but _Slave of R'hllor''_

"Slave nevertheless" He replied trying to provoke the woman. Her lips thinned but she didn't strike as offended.

  
  
  


"It is the highest honour to be a slave of _R’hllor, the Lord of Light, the Heart of Fire, the God of Flame and Shadow_ . You lots would seldom understand" _Too many names. I know only the Old Gods and even they seem to give up on me._

"You are right I don't understand, not that I want to" He snorted, "But with that being said I prefer dangerous freedom over peaceful slavery" Jon declared defiantly.

The woman smiled at him. "I like your spirit Daemon Targaryan. You are quite stubborn"

"And you are quite ignorant. I asked you a question you didn't answer" 

"You want to know why you are here?" Jon nodded and slumped back in the chair.

"The Lord of Light showed us your face in his sacred flames. He deemed you as his champion to face the _great evil_ " The high priest Bennerro declared. Jon was confused. _What great evil is this piece of shit talking about?_

  
  


"Which great evil? I see only you"

" _The night is dark and full of terrors, Daemon Targaryan_ " The priest said little dramatically, throwing his hand from one side to another. His rings on his hand clinking.

  
  


"Nights are always dark. Speak clearly slave" Jon demanded. He didn't like riddles, not when he couldn't solve it.

  
  


"In ancient books of Asshai it is written that there will come a day after a long summer when the stars bleed and the cold breath of darkness falls heavy on the world. In this dread hour a warrior shall draw from the fire a burning sword. And that sword shall be _Lightbringer_ , the Red Sword of Heroes, and he who clasps it shall be _Azor Ahai_ come again, and the darkness shall flee before him.” The priest lifted his voice, so it carried out over the courtyard. The hooded figures were murmuring amongst themselves when they heard the priest. “ _Azor Ahai, beloved of R’hllor! The Warrior of Light, the Son of Fire! Come forth, your sword awaits you! Come forth and take it into your hand!”_ All of them were crying now. _Okay maybe I shouldn't have asked that._ Jon thought to himself frowning. His body was still in pain, his throat dry, he was thirsty. The last thing he needed was the damn priest and his bootlickers to tell him the children's tale. 

"So you say. Assuming I am the _son_ of a dragon _._ You saw it fit to declare I am son of fire and your god's chosen one?"

"Stubborn boy. We do not choose, it is R'hllor who chooses. We only follow his paths'" _Quite the slaves they are._ Jon mused.

"Well then I wipe my ass with your R'hllor paths'' He spat. However soon he realised that he shouldn't have said that as the brute behind the woman marched forward and punched him in the stomach hard. Jon fell off the wooden chair, gasping for air.

  
  
  


"You need to be careful boy how you speak. Lord of Light, looks down upon us" Kinvara said in her soft voice. _Some people are just beautifully wrapped boxes of shit._ Jon thought, looking at the priestess upward . He got back to his feet and took back his seat.

"I fucking hate when someone look down upon me. Your god is no expectation. The only god I know are the Old Gods of the North" _And even they are useless._

  
  
  


"There are no gods but R’hllor and the Other, whose name may not be said.” the priest chided him. Jon rolled his eyes at that. _You just fucking said dumbass. The Others, assuming they exist, that's what they are called._ Although a part of his mind went back to that dream at Starfall. Where he fled beyond the Wall itself and saw those mythical Ice Gods ….or demons. Jon shuddered at the thought.

  
  


"Your god is no better than the _Other_. One burns the other freezes" Jon again got a punch to his stomach for that. The taste of blood filled his mouth. He grinned and spat.

  
  


"We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal; that they are created and endowed by the Lord of Light with certain unalienable rights; if the god demands sacrifice then who are we to deny him?" Benerero challenged him. 

"First and foremost, all men are not created equal," Jon announced, catching his breath. He would never believe all men were equal. "Only the strong survive in this world. Second, your god have shit way of honouring himself" 

Sensing the threat as the damn brute inched near he quickly added "either that or you people misinterpret his headings. Tell me slave, did your god ask you to sacrifice human souls like you did to that little girl?" 

"You mean the innkeeper's daughter?" Benerero asked to which Jon nodded, "sacrifices are sometimes needed. The girl was destined to" _I make my own destiny._ It was what he boasted back in Sunspear from the haze of Dornish Red. It was a fine brave boast, but it rang hollow now. If only he could drink the wine again and the Dornish cunts as well.

"Just like you had sacrificed my wolf" Jon asked sharply. His eyes were murderous. The priests studied his face.

"No we didn't. Only the child was meant for sacrifice. Not your wolf. Not the innkeeper's wife" Kinvara answered with a sweet smile. "As a matter of fact your wolf is alive and well treated. Mayhaps that will suffice"

Jon's eyes were wide and shining with hope. The woman clapped her hands and far away from the door two men were carrying Ghost. His wolf looked as though he was about to attack them but when he saw Jon the wolf ran as fast as ever.

  
  
  
  


"Ghost" Jon whispered, his direwolf was alive. He picked the wolf in his arm, hugging him tight.

  
  


"We cleaned the stump, cut away the rotten flesh and burnt out the corruption with boiling wine and a poultice of nettle, mustard seed, and bread mold. See the fire saved your wolf. Fire is life and is God's and God's alone" Bennerro remarked. _You were responsible for hurting him in the first place._ But Jon didn't voice that.

"I thank you" He instead replied sarcastically, caressing his wolf. He could see stitches in his belly. Surprisingly the wolf somehow looked alright as if he wasn't nearly dead just hours ago, that was assuming if it was the same day. Jon didn't know how long he was unconscious. He ran through the window in the noon now gazing at the sky it was almost dusk. _How many days or weeks have passed?_ Jon wondered. Even his clothes were different. A swirl of silk and satin. A pair of new black boots. 

  
  
  
  
  


"Also we have whipped the ones who attacked your wolf and now are about to be brought here as we speak" Kinvara offered again. _A tempting offer_ . Jon gleamed. He will kill them himself. Still, Jon wondered what these worms were trying to achieve. _They are the ones who sent them in the first place._

  
  
  
  


"Do you know what happened to my knight?" Jon questioned them. Mayhaps these priests even saved him.

"We are afraid we don't know about him. Those bandits possibly killed him" Bennerro replied. The truth was hard to swallow but Jon had to accept nevertheless. _He sacrificed himself for me_. Jon reminded himself. 

"We can understand he was very close to you…" Kinvara began to show him some sympathy but Jon cut her off.

"How can you _understand_ what he was to me? He was just my Kingsguard. Nothing more nothing less" Jon lied gritting his teeth. Kinvara observed him knowingly as though she knew what he was thinking. He didn't want their pity no more than he wanted their help.

  
  


"How does it feel to be _alone_?" Kinvara quipped him. She gave him a half smile. Jon didn't know how to reply. He was not alone, was he? He had Ghost. He had Shadow. He had that damn crow. He could feel the crow nearby. Shadow as well. 

"Same as always. I have been alone all my life" Jon replied, his mouth twitched. It won't do him any good to tell the priest anything about his bonded animals.

"There are moments when troubles enter our lives and we can do nothing to avoid them. But they are there for a reason. Only when we have overcome them will we understand why they were there" Kinvara enlightened him with her sweet voice and Jon found it hard to argue with that.

"I didn't took you for philosopher, slave" 

  
  


"Come and seek the knowledge child" Bennerro again dramatically said, "R'hllor preaches knowledge that your false god lacked. Seek the wisdom for yourself"

"I was never good in academics I am telling you" Jon added. _These insects, and their gods and their godly knowledge. I want no part in them. I had enough of Maester Luwin and Arthur rubbing my back._

"To acquire knowledge, one must study but to acquire wisdom, one must observe." Bennerro the ever so dramatic weasel declared but his words worked on Jon. 

  
  


"Pray tell me how I am supposed to acquire this _wisdom_ you speak about"

Bennerro said something in foreign language. He guessed it as high valyrian. A girl with red robes and hood strode towards from a tall oval doorway, set in a wall fashioned in the likeness of a grotesque faced demon. She was carrying a jug and a crystal glass in a steel stray.

  
  


"What is that wine?" Jon asked eagerly. 

  
  


Kinvara inched near. He sensed Ghost getting tense and grinding his fangs but she didn't mind him. The priestess instead kissed Jon softly on his lips. Her skin felt hot, feverish but her kiss was _sweet._ Sweeter than honey. 

"Visions of loveliness and visions of horror, wonders and terrors. That's what they are" She said after breaking the kiss, softly caressing his face.

The hooded woman poured the drink in the glass. It was thick blue liquid. She knelt "your worship"

Kinvara took the glass.

" _The shade of evening._ Known as the wine of warlocks. Take and drink" Kinvara offered. Jon was hesitant. He has heard about the warlocks and their wine. Everybody have heard even in the distant North.

  
  


"I...I don't think I want to. It's referred to as poison in the North. The Old Gods forbid to drink" That was half-truth but he didn't want to drink something like that but his body was giving up.

Kinvara smiled thinly as if she knew he couldn't resist. “Take my arm, and let me lead you.”

  
  


The woman raised the glass to his lips. Jon was so thirsty that he hardly cared whatever it was. He needed something to clear his throat. He sucked the wine like a woman's teats. It tasted absolutely foul, like rotten meat but he swallowed it all the same. Soon the taste began to change. He could feel tendrils spreading in his tongue, it was a taste like honey and cream, like mother’s milk and women's cunt. It was all the tastes he had ever known, and none of them . . . and then the glass was empty.

  
  
  
  
  
  


And, his mind began to drool.

  
  
  
  
  
  


In place of Kinvara, Jon saw a very beautiful woman sprawled naked on the floor while four little men crawled over her. They had rattish pointed faces and tiny pink hands. One was pumping between her thighs. Another savaged her breasts, worrying at the nipples with his wet red mouth, tearing and chewing. His own mouth watered. _The dwarfs are devouring her._

  
  


He then came upon a feast of corpses. Savagely slaughtered, raped women, children were impaled. Some had lost limbs, even heads. Severed hands clutched bloody cups, wooden spoons, roast fowl, heels of bread. _Where in the name of the Old Gods is the wisdom here,_ he thought, with a sick sad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  
  
  


The scenery changed and he was again in a new place. The skulls of dead dragons looked down from its walls. _Interesting._ Upon a towering barbed throne sat an old man in rich robes, an old man with dark lilac eyes and long silver-grey hair. “ _Let him be king over charred bones and cooked meat_ ,” he said to a man below him. “ _Let him be the king of ashes_ .” The man raged. His nails were long and he looked as though he hadn't bathed for a year. _Who is this pig?_ Jon wondered. _He's a Targaryen king for sure_ . _Maybe Baelor the Blessed?_ Jon guessed. _No he can only be Aerys the Mad._ The way he was referring 'let him be King of ashes' gave it away. Jon now knew why he was called the Mad King. _This is your grandsire._ A part of his head whispered. Jon felt sick. 

  
  


Again the vision blurred. He then saw a very effeminate man. The man had moonlight silver hair, and his eyes were a dark indigo. He appeared very princely like one of Sansa's fairy tales. _Who is this man and why does he look familiar? “Aegon_ ,” he said to a woman lying in a great wooden bed. She was dark of hair and had a pair of grey eyes. _The eyes of a Stark._ She was beautiful.

“What better name for a king?”

Suddenly Jon knew who they were….. _Rhaegar and Lyanna._ Jon was freezed. 

_Mother and father._ He never thought in a million years he would see them. He hated them for what they did. He hated them for leaving him alone. Now they were here. Tears were forming in his eyes. His heart was beating faster. 

  
  


"Will you make a song for him?” the woman asked, caressing her belly. They looked so peaceful and calm. Not a care in the world. 

  
  


“He has a song,” the man replied. _They are talking about me._ “He is the prince that was promised, and his is the _song of ice and fire_.” He looked up when he said it and his eyes met Jon's, and it seemed as if he saw him standing there beyond the door. Jon lost all his life from his body. His feet would not move. Words weren't coming out of his mouth. He wanted to say something. Yell at them. Why were they so _free?_ He wanted to hug them. Cry in their arms. Ask them why did they leave him. More tears were flowing from his eyes. Now he knew they loved him even before he was born. _Damn it. Why am I crying? I am not weak. They are dead. They abandoned me. They should feel the pain I felt._ _They should shred the tears_ _not me._ The man went to the window seat, picked up a harp, and ran his fingers lightly over its silvery strings. Sweet sadness filled the room as Rhaegar and Lyanna faded like the morning mist, only the music lingering behind. Jon yelled but it reached to deaf ears. He cried for what seemed like hours. 

  
  
  
  


His tears freezed as he stopped sobbing and the visions swirled, he saw a large man who appeared like some kind of a horn-god with an antlered helmet. He carried a spiked iron warhammer. A _monster._ Jon thought. _The demon of trident._ He saw Rhaegar again. Black of armour with rubies adorning all over it. Both men charged each other atop their rides. Rubies flew like drops of blood from the chest of a dragon prince, and he sank to his knees in the water and with his last breath murmured a woman’s name…. _Lyanna_ . Jon stood emotionless. He won't cry anymore. _He failed. How disappointing._

A series of visions showered him. Jon saw himself clad in a warriors outfit with....A burning city behind him. Glowing like sunset, a red sword was raised in the hand of a blue-eyed king who cast no shadow. A cloth dragon swayed on poles was burnt alive amidst a cheering crowd. From a smoking tower, a great stone beast took wing, breathing shadow fire. _I am in the presence of sorcery._

In a throne above them sat a dead boy with the head of a golden lion. He wore a golden crown and held a glass of wine in one hand, and his eyes followed him. The boy looked anything but kingly. There was menace in those green eyes. A kraken was rising from the sea. Flowers were blooming in the garden with thorns as sharp as nails. 

  
  


_Dragon, Dragon, Dragon, Dragon, Dragon, Dragon, Dragon…._ A voice moaned and echoed. His head was heavy from all the visions and he felt dizzy. Suddenly the noise rose. _Dragon, Dragon, Dragon….._ Slowly it was getting uncomfortable. And then it was straight hell. The voices were like warhammers dropping in his head. Very much like how he saw Robert Baratheon crush Rhaegar's chest. His skin was burning. The pain was something he never felt like. He was screaming. Begging to stop. 

Then the pain vanished and his visions were cut short.

Jon realized he was pressing Ghost hard on the floor. His hands and legs were shaking. He glanced up at the priests. They were looking back at him with their faces blank. _Visions of wonders and terrors, indeed._

Jon pursed his lip shut. He was panting hard. His mind was still dizzy. He clutched the white furs of Ghost hard but the direwolf didn't wince. Surprisingly, the tiles beneath were warm.

Abruptly he heard a man crying. He tilted his head upward and saw the innkeeper dragged on with shackles, behind him three more men in similar fashion but they were as mute as his direwolf with their head bowed. 

  
  


Jon glanced at Kinvara with a questioning look.

"They are captives. Those three men were responsible for wounding your wolf," Jon threw them a nasty look. Their head still down. 

"And the innkeeper?" The said man was begging pathetically.

  
  


"He refused the blessing of R'hllor," Bennerro said coldly. _In simple words, he refused to be a slave to your god._ Jon could not fault the man for that. He would have refused himself. _Thankfully I am supposed to be some prophesied hero alongside the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms._ Jon thought sarcastically.

  
  


Thereupon he saw the chest left by Rhaegar. Another _fiery hand_ brought it and his sword as well. He didn't leave his eyes off the box. Bennerro opened the chest and held _his_ dragon egg. 

  
  
  
  


Men in tunics and hooded cloaks, women in colored silks, but whores or priestesses he failed to distinguish as such this far east it was hard to tell the two apart, laid the wood east to west, from sunrise to sunset.

  
  
  


Gnarled cottonwoods, purple brush, sheaves of brown grass. They took the two straightest trees, hacked the limbs and branches from them, skinned off their bark, and split them, laying the logs in a square. Its center they filled with straw, brush, bark shavings, and bundles of dry grass.

_Seven fucking hells, they are trying to hatch the bloody egg._

  
  


Another layer of brush was piled about the woods and bundles of dried grass scattered over them. The third level of the platform was woven of branches no thicker than a finger, and covered with dry leaves and twigs. They laid them north to south, from ice to fire, and piled them high with soft cushions and sleeping silks. 

  
  


Jon abruptly recalled the story of summerhall. _Gods be good, they will burn down this place in fool's quest to hatch the egg._

"Are you insane, slave? Just what made you think to do all _this_?" Jon exclaimed sharply, getting to his feet. _I surely didn't survive the intrusion only to die from the madness of this snobbery worm._ _Could the gods be this cruel?_ Jon contemplated with resignation. _Fuck the gods. The old god, the new god, the red god. They are all the same. Worthless. I make my own destiny._

  
  


"Even after seeing the vision of God, the vision of _R'hllor,_ you still deny him, child?" The insane fuck replied just as sharply. 

  
  
  


Seeing this Jon was sure there was no stopping this madman. He looked for his sword. It would be better if he left this place be. Took his box and wolf, and run.

Just as he was looking to grab the sword. The brute grabbed his neck from behind and kicked in his calf, sending him on his knees. Ghost jumped at the man only to be kicked back. Jon growled seeing that. His direwolf was not properly healed or else the man would be in pieces. _If I somehow get my hand on my sword then I will cut down every last one of these mindless slaves, starting with this monster._

  
  


"You are a child, a very ignorant child at that" The damn slave chided, tutting. _Again he called me 'child'._

"Do you think you can be successful in hatching a dragon that has not happened for a hundred of years?" Jon rebuked. His pupils flared.

  
  


"Do you think bloodmagic is a game for children?" The priest instead asked him, "No it's not. Remember this Daemon Targaryen, you are god chosen, son of the fire" _And you, son of the bitch._

  
  


Kinvara padded towards where he knelt and picked his sword.

The captives were brought ahead and knelt before the hearth, encircled by wooden spears and bronze swords.

Kinvara used his sword and cut his left palm. Jon hissed. Blood was pouring as they bathed the dragon egg with his blood. 

" _Only death pays for life,Daemon_ " Kinvara muttered and handed him the burning torch. 

_I can not turn now._ Jon told himself. He could not escape and he could not refuse as well. _I must accept there's some reason in this madness._

  
  


He let his eyes wander at the innkeeper and the slaves. The innkeeper was begging him to not do this. _Why is he so much clinging to his life? His wife was raped, daughter burnt, what's more to live for this man?_ Jon thought he would do some mercy burning this man and as for those three worms he would burn them with pleasure. 

Jon took the torch from Kinvara's hand and thrust it between the logs. The oil took the fire at once, the brush and dried grass a heartbeat later. Tiny flames went darting up the wood like swift red mice, skating over the oil and leaping from bark to branch to leaf. A rising heat puffed at his face, soft and sudden as a lover’s breath, but in seconds it had grown too hot to bear. Jon stepped backward. 

" _Lead us from the darkness, O my Lord. Fill our hearts with fire, so we may walk your shining path. R'hllor, you are the light in our eyes, the fire in our hearts, the heat in our loins. Yours is the sun that warms our days, yours the stars that guard us in the dark of night_ " Bennerro, Kinvara and almost everyone there was blabbering the same chant. Even the damn brute.

  
  


Jon looked at Bennerro and he was sure he saw the flames tattooed on his face were dancing too, twisting and bending, melting into one another, their colors changing with every turn of the priest’s head. 

  
  


The wood crackled, louder and louder. The innkeeper began to sing in a shrill, howling voice. The flames whirled and writhed, racing each other up the platform. 

  
  
  


The dusk gleamed as the air itself seemed to melt from the heat. Jon heard logs spit and crack. Smoke swirled thick from the fire. The fires swept over the three salves. The innkeeper barked louder, shriller, then he gasped, again and again, and his song became a shuddering wail, thin and high and full of agony. He saw the fire melting the flesh from their bones until they were as one, Jon didn't want to admit but he had to admire the three slaves as they didn't even so much as cry a bit. _A misfortune. I wanted to hear them scream real bad._

  
  


He gazed at the flames longingly. They were the most magnificent things he had ever seen. Each one looked like a serpent's tongue twisted and crooked, like long cloaks meant to shield from every cold, a sorcerer robed in yellow and orange and scarlet. Grey smokes. He saw fish and foxes and monsters, wolves and falcons and flowering trees, each more amazing than the previous.

Jon closed his eyes and let the smell and the warmth enfold him.

  
  


"The first star, a comet, burning red. _Bloodred_ . _Fire red. The dragon’s tail_. We could not have asked for a stronger sign" Bennerro cried his followers shouting. The firelight made his black skin shine like polished onyx. 

  
  


The pyre roared in the deepening dusk like some great beast, drowning out the fainter sound of the innkeeper's screams and sending up long tongues of flame to lick at the belly of the night. 

He thereupon heard a crack, the sound of shattering stone. The platform of wood and brush and grass began to shift and fall in upon itself. Pieces of burning wood slid down and Jon saw ash and cinders. And something else came crashing down, bouncing and rolling, to land at near his feet; a chunk of curved rock, red like blood, broken and smoking. The roaring filled the world. Jon froze when he saw it. When it saw Jon, it raised its head and looked at him with eyes as red as coals.

Jon heard Bennerro shriek and cry out in wonder. 

The thing beat in the air momentarily with great red wings. 

Jon knelt to inspect the sinister beast. His face paled. Mouth was open wide. Eyes near bulging out of his head. _Dragon_ …. _Gods be good, those worms did it. They and their red god._

  
  
  


" _Lord of Light, defend us. The night is dark and full of terrors. Lord of Light, protect us_ "

Jon frowned hearing those voices. _I need to escape now._ Jon thought urgently. _Now that the dragon is hatched. There was no way they would let me be in peace._

  
  


Shadow. _I need to find him._ As Jon was kneeling he tried to warg into his horse. His ride was nearby.

  
  


As Daemon Targaryen rose to his feet, the dragon at his shoulder hissed, pale smoke venting from its mouth and nostrils. It's translucent wings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons.

  
  


The smoke was thick. Jon observed. It was already dusk. The daylight bled and faded. The only light was the fire but it was low now. The grey and dark hues covering everything. Jon found his moment. He grabbed his sword. At the spur of moment, everybody was awestruck with the dragon that they forgot about the sword. He went to pick up the box but Kinvara grabbed his wrist tightly. The sorceress' red eyes were piercing his soul but only for a moment as his crow whirled through the smoke out of nowhere poking at those eyes with its claw. Jon quickly covered her mouth even before she could yell. He choked her to death. 

As the smoke grew thicker, the fiery hand backed away, coughing. Huge orange gouts of fire unfurled their banners in that hellish wind, the logs hissing and cracking, glowing cinders rising on the smoke to float away into the dark like so many newborn fireflies. 

  
  
  


"For giving me this dragon your red god will have his due, slave" Jon went behind Bennerro and whispered, "but you won't _survive_ to see that" Jon cut the man's head off clean.

The scarlet beast was draped across his shoulders, its long sinuous neck coiled under his chin. He took the large cloak of the priest and hid his dragon. Ghost finished the brute slave biting his neck. The wolf's instinct was greater in time like this. 

The chaos was everywhere soon. As the smoke was clearing as soon rain began to pour from azure much to his dissatisfaction, the slaves saw their high priests dead on the tiles but by then Jon had already ran past the corridor and was near the gate of the Red Temple.

  
  


Shadow was neighing loudly in front of the gate. The fiery hand fighting to control the horse never saw him. He swung at the back of the man’s neck, and felt the steel bite down to the bone. Jon hurriedly placed the chest at the saddle bag of his horse 

  
  


A volley of arrows was fired from the temple's garrison slaves. Jon cursed his luck. Somehow Jon managed to grab his mane with his off hand and vault himself onto her back. A hand closely grabbed his wolf, and the other hacked down and saw the slave's face dissolve in a welter of blood. The horse reared, lashing out.

  
  


Jon made no effort to guide his horse. It was all he could do to stay on him as they plunged through mud and rain and thunder.

  
  


There was a deep throbbing ache in his right thigh. When he looked down, he was surprised to see an arrow jutting out the back of it. _When did that happen?_ He grabbed hold of the shaft and gave it a tug, but the arrowhead was sunk deep in the meat of his leg, and the pain when he pulled on it was excruciating. The rain washed out all the blood from his body as though washing him like a septon atones the Seven.

  
  


He tried to think back on the madness at the inn and temple, but all he could remember was the dragon now clinging to his chest hidden behind the red cloak.

  
  


Clumsily, he slumped down the mare’s back. His wounded leg buckled under him, and he had to swallow a scream. For all the miracles he was shocked and happy to see his crow resting on the crest of the horse. 

  
  


He grunted, then cursed further. Jon pushed back his bloody breeches to get a better grip, grimaced, and slowly drew the shaft through his leg. How he got through that without fainting he never knew.

  
  


After a while, he realized that if he did not make himself move he was likely to bleed to death. _How did I ever mount him before, with a direwolf in one hand and sword in other hand?_

  
  


The throb of pain in his thigh muscle made him wince as he put his heels into the horse. His eyes were begging to sleep. The only thing that kept his eyes awake was the rain pouring on his face. He was not even holding the reins of his horse. 

Shadow was galloping very fast. Jon himself didn't know where it was going. Ghost was prisoned in his arms. The rain drapped all his furs. Just as he was about to sleep he heard horns and sirens. He opened his eyes forcefully and saw his horse was running towards the harbour. 

_Good boy._ Jon praised his horse silently. _We need to leave this shit of a city._ He roamed his eyes towards the sky and saw the comet. It’s tail spread across the night, a red slash that bled above the crags of Volantis. Even the shiny stars appeared dull compared to the comet.

  
  


All of a sudden Shadow went past the sea of men at the narrow patio of the harbour. None of them saw it coming until they were thrown at the sea. Jon could hardly blame them. Shadow was dark as night. No wonder they were caught unaware and bushwhacked.

  
  
  
  


Then for all the wonder he had seen, he least expected his horse to jump off the patio onto the sailing ship. Somehow Shadow succeeded in that. No sooner his horse landed at the back of the ship he fell off his horse onto the wooden floor. His direwolf also fell and the dragon shrieked, as if sensing his pain, his claws digging through silk and skin. The crow cried loudly and flew away. 

  
  
  
  


The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was an ugly blonde woman with dead eyes and slit nose pointing her sword at him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a while. So Chapter 19 on 19th of December. 2020 is a really a fucked up year, isn't it? The exams and other shit took me a while to return. Gods I hate this year. 
> 
> So this is perhaps my longest chapter. Can't believe the shit took me more than a week to write. I don't know if anyone was waiting for this.... but whatever. I took a lot of help from AGOT books on how to hatch a fuckin dragon. So from now on Jon Snow is all alone. There maybe plenty mistakes in the grammar sorry for that :), 
> 
> I originally intended to sacrifice Ser Arthur to hatch a dragon but thought the man at least deserve to live a while. I don't know about the next update I will try to write soon.


	20. Keep moving forward

**JON**

Screaming. It was always the screaming after a battle or… a slaughter. The world didn't end in a loud crack or a faint whisper, but in one scream at a time. The city was red. So much that he thought it would not be a mistake if some Westeros called it the _Red City._ But it was Myr. The quarrelsome daughter of Valyria. Blood at the gates, blood on the flagstones, blood all over the statues. He was outside the Red Temple.

Ser Lucifer Long of House Long, a fellow northern, was holding a priestess by her waist with her red arse exposed. He was riding her like there was no tomorrow. The priestess had a lot to say. She was crying, cursing the knight and praying for her red god even when she was getting devoured. _She screeches like a barn owl._ That hurt his ears. The other one with big breasts was more quiet and quick to finish with. She even moaned when Jon thrusted deep inside her. He immediately didn't like this one.

The draft was stinking as dawn surged on the horizon. Jon hopped near the priestess, his shadow covering her. The northern man paid him no heed as he was drowning in his pleasure. But Jon had to cut short. He couldn't let the man enjoy his fullest and he suffered ear bleeding. Jon bent his knee and slitted the red priestess throat.

  
  
  


As he turned the knight yelled furiously, "Hey how dare you do that" 

"The lady was too loud. It hurt my ears. You should have fucked her inside somewhere Ser" Jon replied shrugging his shoulders.

"I will fuck this whore wherever I like" The northerner didn't like how his pet was killed before he was finished.

"And I will kill her whenever I want," Jon snapped at the knight. He was a good man. Lucifer. Good enough to ride and fight alongside but he had a bad temper very much like most members of their group of bandits who loved to style themselves as sellswords, the _Windblown._ Though Jon supposed he could count on himself as well. He have a bad temper and was a member of the Windblown. A notorious member. 

  
  


It has been over eight months since he left Volantis. _Ten moons and_ _I have still not forgotten what happened on that unfaithful day._

When he woke up after passing out at the ship he was tied with chains around his wrists and knees clanking. His injured leg pierced by the damn arrow was thankfully stitched and recovering. He was told he woke after a week. _Dick Straw._ That was the name of man. He had seen them at Lys. At that pleasure house.

He recalled his time at the cell. His unwashed hair had fallen to his shoulders in ropes and tangles, the clothes were rotting on his body, his face felt dry and wasted. Waste pile and foul-smelling brown ooze crept across the floor of the cell, he was kept, soaking into the straw.

  
  


For days after waking he was kept at the cell. Fever and chills assaulted him, burning through him, turning his bowels to brown water and making him shiver in his restless sleep. Each morning had found him weaker. His throat was kept dry and Jon had thought if the fever did not kill him, thirst surely would. He had developed a bad cough. Sometimes apart from the Westerosi tongue speaking man, the ugly woman would come to check on him. She would not talk but gaze at home with those cold blue-grey eyes. _Pretty Meris_. The woman that had pointed her sword at him before he'd passed out.

  
  
  
  
  
  


The cell was all the shelter he had, and that was little enough. Thirst, hunger, piles of shit and darkness were his companions, with him every hour of every day, and in time he had come to think of them as his friends. He'd thought soon enough Dick Straw or the other of his friends would take pity on him and free him from this endless misery. Or perhaps his captives would simply walk into the cell and kill him one day torturing. Once in desperation he yelled on top of his lungs to the guards, that looked more like smugglers, only to get beaten down like a dog. They'd whipped him bloody. The scars were still there on his back. 

  
  
  


He'd asked Dick Straw about his wolf, his horse and most importantly his red dragon. The beast hatched by those slaves of Volantis. The man didn't speak of the dragon but Jon was told they were well fed. That had been the only reliving news for him. His wolf was chained to the other and where they kept his dragon he had no idea. Jon had even feared for the creature. It was only a newborn. Any man bold enough would have killed it but Jon had convinced himself they wouldn't kill his dragon. _A dragon is more valuable alive than dead_ . Jon didn't doubt they would have tried to tame the dragon but Jon knew they wouldn't succeed. _A dragon is no slave_ . He had hung on those words in the cell. _Neither am I._

  
  
  


And those words rang true. His wolf was chained, his horse tied in the lower deck of the ship but his crow was as free as ever. The only thing Jon could have done was warg inside the black bird and search where they'd kept his dragon. He found his dragon in a circular cage. The red beast had looked like a red serpent resolved itself into a neck and tail, and then the dragon’s long horned head appeared, his garnet eyes glowing in the dark like lava coals. His wings rattled, stretching. Jon had lowered the crow to properly gaze at the beast. He'd seen the red dragon ripping at the smoking carcass of the fish the sellswords served it, its small tail lashing from side to side as it ate. A thick iron collar was visible about its neck, with three feet of broken chain dangling from it.

  
  
  


He oft heard the screech of the dragon. After trying their full it looked as though his captors had given up trying to tame the dragon and the leader of the company finally showed up. Tattered Prince he was called. Jon recalled his meeting with the commander at the prison on the ship.

  
  


**Flash Back**

**__________________________________**

  
  


Three men and a woman had come at his cell whom he later came to know as Tattered Prince, Denzo D'haan, Caggo Huge and Pretty Meris.

  
  


A red lantern hung on a hook just inside the door, and a greasy black candle flickered on an overturned barrel serving as a table. That was the only light.

  
  


Caggo was staring at him hard, his black arakh hanging at his hip. Pretty Meris stood cradling a crossbow, her eyes as cold and dead as two grey stones. Denzo D’han with his long white snowy beard stood emotionless behind the Tattered Prince. 

  
  


In the yellow candlelight his silver-grey hair seemed almost golden, though the pouches underneath his eyes were etched as large as saddlebags. He wore a brown rugged wool traveler’s cloak, with silvery chain mail glimmering underneath. The famed Prince of Pentos.

  
  


"A warm greetings dragon prince, I am the commander of Windblown and Prince of Pentos, known as the Tattered Prince" the man began standing right in front of him. _So this man is their leader._

  
  


"You are no prince of Pentos no more than I am Prince of Westeros'' Jon replied weakly, all the whipping and beating left him like a beaten down dog. He have heard about the man when he read about Pentos back in his voyage from the books Arthur made him read. _Arthur…_ _even after his death he's helping me._ Jon thought morosely.

If the man was offended he didn't show instead he flashed him an amused smile. 

"Will you drink?" the Tattered Prince offered him a wine "Zahrina offers food as well. Her bread is stale and her stew is unspeakable. Grease and salt, with a morsel or two of meat. Dog, she says, but I think rats are more likely. It will not kill you, though. I have found that it is only when the food is tempting that one must beware. Poisoners invariably choose the choicest dishes.”

At that time Jon wanted nothing more than to drink the wine but he held himself. He was amongst a group of bandits. He couldn't let his guard down. _The last time I drank from a stranger I went straight to hell._ Jon recalled drinking the shade of evening.

Sensing his hesitation the Prince spoke, “I can have your head off any time I want. Tell me why would I need to poison you?”

Jon studied the man's face when he found nothing he reluctantly agreed to drink.

He sloshed the yellow wine around his mouth before he swallowed. “Sour and vile, not Dornish Red” he said, “but anything is better than piss” He put his back to the wall, drew his knees up to his chest, and stared at the Prince. The arkh carrying olive man was glaring at him.

  
  


Jon was fettered at wrist and ankle, each cuff chained to the others, so he could neither stand nor lie comfortably. The ankle chains were bolted to the wall. “Are my bracelets heavy enough for you, or did my lord come to add a few more? I’ll jar them like a maiden if you like.”

  
  


"If you are cowed, you hide it well, I'll grant you that" The Tattered Prince inched forward.

There was an awkward silence. Neither he nor the man said anything. Both were observing each other. He didn't dare look at the other three.

As the silence stretched longer Jon spoke again, "So they call you tattered because of your ragged cloak or something, my lord?"

  
  
  


"My ragged raiment. Yes from these I get the nickname 'tattered', yet those tatters fill my foes with fear, and on the battlefield the sight of my rags blowing in the wind emboldens my men more than any banner. And if I want to move unseen, I need only slip it off to become plain and unremarkable. But enough about me tell me about you and no lies. I hate liars and deserters'' the man ordered with a strong tone.

  
  


Jon knew he shouldn't have said that but he did, "What's there to tell. I believe you have everything to know about me"

  
  


The man snorted, "yes, Prince Daemon of House Targaryen. Son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. It is what's written in the paper but the stories about sunset kingdoms tells different"

  
  


Jon kept his mouth shut.

  
  


"I wonder how the people in Westeros would react to this news. More specifically the monarch. The merchants of Westeros tell us the man hates your kind to the guts'' I _am not their kind_ Jon thought. _Yet Robert Baratheon would hate me more than any other Targaryen._ Jon remembered the demon of trident. Tall as a giant and that monstrous warhammer of his. The thought of facing the man made him shiver.

  
  


"What do you say sweetling?" The sellsword asked the homely woman behind him, "What should be done to the boy? Should we return him to his homeland?" He asked the same with others on high valyrian tilting his head.

"No," Jon interrupted, panicked, shaking his head. _I am not going to die like Rhaegar._

  
  


The other man with hard eyes said something and grabbed the hilt of his sword.

"No? What makes you think you have a say in the choice boy?" The brute of a woman spoke. She was over six feet tall. 

The Tattered Prince voiced "it's what D'hann said, what Meris told you right now, he's my right hand, he's not Westerosi so he can't speak your tongue but he understood what you said"

  
  


Jon sighed and collected himself. _Weigh every word before you speak it,_ he told himself.

"Things go to rust in this damp,” Jon started, “Even a prince's courtesies. Listen to me and we shall reach an agreement ... for a _price_.” 

"Captives do not set prices" The lamplight revealed a pail overflowing with feces in one corner and a huddled shape in another. The Pentoshi had sad eyes. Jon noted.

"As you say but you don't want me dead" Jon pressed on, 

  
  


"Alright say what you want to say. I promise not to have you killed until I have heard you out. That is the least I can do for a fellow prince.” _One wrong word, and this could turn to blood in half a heartbeat_.

He took a healthy swallow of wine and closed his eyes. "Selling me to the _Usurper_ for a cheap price won't do you any good. I am more valuable alive than dead. My dragon is just a newborn. It needs time to grow but once it is grown… I presume you have heard the tales of dragonlords…"

Jon paused and gazed at the man. He appeared unmoved but Jon could see the mention of a dragon brought a sharp light in his eyes. _Yes. Dragon, the creature of wonder and terror. Every person in the known world would want to have them._

  
  


"But to achieve that I need shelter. I need swords. I need protection. The King sitting at the Iron Throne is not my only enemy. The old blood living inside Volantise black walls want me dead. So do the followers of the red god. I killed their high priests and priestess back in Volantis before running for my life which brought me to you" _Don't lie._

"So you killed those mongrels, did you?" The man chuckled before translating the same to his men. The two looked at him and cracked a feral smile. "Every man has his tale. You are not the first to try to swear me your swords, take my coin, and run. All of them have reasons. ‘My little son is sick,’ or ‘My wife is putting horns on me,’ or ‘The other men all make me suck their cocks.’ Such a charming boy, the last, but I did not excuse his desertion. Another fellow told me our food was so wretched that he had to flee before it made him sick, so I had his foot cut off, roasted it up, and fed it to him. Then I made him our camp cook. Our meals improved markedly, and when his contract was fulfilled he signed another"

“Life is full of disappointments.” Jon sighed, "I am not swearing you my swords. I am talking about hiring your swords"

  
  


“Life is full of disappointments, indeed" Tattered Prince agreed, "In the case that you didn't know we are already hired by magisters of Lys." _So that's why they were there back in Lys._

"What will you do once your contract is fulfilled then?" Jon asked quickly, his energy returning after drinking the sour wine. _Wine brings courage to a man._

"Such a simple question. Would that answer be as easy. But this is the way of life for we men of the free companies. 

One war ends, another begins. Fortunately there is always someone fighting someone somewhere. Perhaps here. Even as we sit here drinking in a ship. _Company of Cats_ and _Storm Crows_ are killing each other at Disputed Lands. I can visualize Blood Beard shouting his men to push" the man chuckled bitterly, "Oh but one thing I am certain of. Someone will have a need for our swords.”

“I have a need for those swords. I will hire you.” Jon put forth, determined. _Last time when I rejected my captives desire I nearly got killed trying to escape. This time I won't repeat._ Jon promised. _I cannot walk alone with my dragon and wolf. Especially with my dragon. I need men. Whoever they may be._

"The boy does not lack gall," the Pentoshi told Merris, "young blood I can tell. He needs to know more about the world. In this world, a man must learn to seize whatever gifts the gods chose to send him. That was a lesson I learned at some cost. I offer it to you as a sign of my good faith" _yes a man must learn to seize whatever gifts the gods chose to send him._ Jon wholeheartedly agreed to that. _Mayhaps gods sent those priests as a gift but I screwed up._

"So.. are you in?" Jon once again tried. His back still hurt as he tried to move up.

"Need I remind you my dear prince, you have no gold to hire us?" _At least he's not asking for a dragon._

  
  


"What about those papers that I have in my box?" Jon was prepared for this, "Need I remind you those are the papers left by my _sire,_ the Crown Prince of Dragonstone, Rhaegar Targaryen. The Iron Bank of Braavos owes me some gold. I am sure it would be enough to hire you" He was not sure how much money Rhaegar left but he needed not to act desperate "I will pay you part after we reach Braavos, the rest when I am back in the North"

"North?" The man questioned, puzzled, _I have his attention now_ Jon thought with triumph.

Jon flashed him a dangerous smile for the first time. "Oh you're not quite good at keeping track, are you? Yes north, the largest kingdom of Westeros, ruled by my uncle Lord Eddard Stark who raised me as his own son lying in the face of the _Usurper._ My mother is a Stark, a well loved among all the noble houses of North,

"So you see Prince of Pentos I am not just a boy with a _baby_ dragon. I am the most important man you could ever meet that has the power to change the fate of the entire continent in a whimp. Even those red god slaves hailed me as some prophesied hero of some sorts. Your own guards were talking about the comet I brought" Jon boasted. _I need to make him believe I am of high importance._ _Sellswords are like whores the more you tempt the more they lust._

"Papers and promises" the woman snorted bitterly,

"Not empty promises I assure you on my honour of House Stark and Targaryen" Jon swore honestly. _Shit of honour, that's what I am._

"The rest you’ll have in the North” Jon insisted. “The man who raised me as his son, my dear uncle, is a man of honour. Everybody on the other side of Narrow sea would confirm that. Ask those merchants of yours if you like" That was not a lie. "If I put my seal to an agreement, he will fulfill its terms. You have my word on that.” _This is a lie._ ****

  
  


The leader observed his face for a minute. He was tracing for any sort of lie. But Jon knew better. He knew how to lie. He'd been hiding his inner turmoil ever since he knew what bastards meant. Lying to the sellswords was not a big deal. _First I need to survive._ Eddard Stark would never honour his agreement. No more than he would raise his sword to fight for his cause. That much was certain after his fallout with his former father. But the sellswords didn't know that. _I must survive through any means necessary. Only the strong survive in this world._

After looking for whatever the Pentoshi saw in his face he said, "let me get this straight if I understand. A boy with a newborn dragon and possibly the heir to the seven kingdoms beyond the sea wishes to contract with us and pay in promises. And for what services? I wonder. Are my Windblown to smash the followers of R'hllor and sack Volantis? Defeat the Tigers and fiery hand? Escort you home to your father-uncle?" _And what a welcome it would be._ Jon thought hopelessly. _No, I must stay with them._

"Yeah something like that but I can not return…. yet" Jon replied grudgingly. There was nothing left. Jon didn't know what to do anymore. He had never ever thought about his life this far. Once as a child he thought he might join the ancient order of the Watch but soon as he grew up he discarded the notion. Then he fantasize about traveling the world being a mercenary. He even fancied being someone like Aegor Rivers the Bittersteel. He and his uncle traveling to free cities fighting people bloody. Forming his own brotherhood. That was what an ungrateful bastard like him would dream of. But no Arthur had to put an end to his dream. He had to tell him that he was not a bastard of Ned Stark. He'd to tell him he was the heir to the Iron Throne and being a greedy bastard he was Jon leaped on a false promise to be a king like a dog would for a rotten bone. Told repeatedly by people he had nothing to inherit made him blind with the prospect of ruling everything. _Damn you Arthur._ Jon cursed internally. _If only you hadn't tell me all this I would still be riding through Bear Islands fucking those she-bears, beating Theon shitless, teaching Arya her swordsplay. I would have enjoyed roaming the free cities. Earning golds, drinking finest wines and enjoying whores and possibly die somewhere like some nobody._

  
  


"You do not want to return to Westeros. Dragons come dear. You want to hide it" the Tattered Prince studied him like an open book. "Men who pay in promises should have at least the sense to promise more.”

  
  


"I could pay you double if everything went alright" Jon's voice lacked the promise.

“Double does not pay for dragons, princeling. I don't want your paper gold. I want something else when time is right" the Pentoshi muttered under his breath. This caught Jon's attention.

"What do you want then?"

  
  


“What I want,” said the Tattered Prince, “is Pentos"

_Pentos. That's where those Targaryens are hiding. They trapped me on Volantis and are the reason Arthur died._ Just thinking about them made him angry and sad even in pain. _They didn't even give me a chance._

"Pentos, huh? What a coincidence, I just so have to meet some people there...with _fire and blood_ " Jon said with malice lacing his tone "so are you going to offer me some fancy cloak like yours?"

The Tattered Prince grinned flashing his crooked teeth and held up his hand for Jon to stand. Pretty Meris curled her lip in a half-smile.

  
  


The chains in his ankles made his knee rust. _I will rise_ . Jon swore. _I will rise with a spine of steel and roar like thunder._

  
  
  
  


__________________________________

  
  
  
  
  


If truth be told another reason Jon killed the woman was he couldn't stand the sight of the followers of R'hllor. _Much less listen to them scream my ears off._

  
  


"You think you are some kind of special?" The knight again challenged him. Jon didn't like that. He didn't want to kill one of his _brothers_ and a fellow northern man no less.

  
  


"Careful how you speak with his magnificence" Lewis Lanster warned the knight. Jon suppressed his smile. It felt good to hear people kiss his arse. Ever since the members of Windblown knew he had a dragon and direwolf to command they saw him like some kind of almighty. Not to mention his skill with the blade. Jon was one of the best swordsmen, if not the best, in the company. The only ones who could impose him were Caggo and D'haan. So it wasn't surprising to find that more than half of the members of Windblown were influenced by him. The golden haired westerosi archer Lewis was much the same.

"Or what golden shit? Did'ya not see he killed my woman. I want the woman back." His long face and dark eyes were glaring at him.

  
  


"Your shaft is still inside her, just release your shit and be done" Lanster told the knight,

"Fuck off you suck ass. Do ya think his little dragon and his wolf makes his life worth more than mine?"

"What makes you think your life is worth at all?" Jon inquired, amused by the knight's statement. Ser Lucifer once tried to steal Ghost from him. Apparently being a blood of the First Men made the good knight believe he could have the direwolf for himself.

Before Ser Lucifer could retort Dick Straw got involved, "shut your whiny mouth Lucifer. The dragon boy has the right of it. The whore was annoying and loud. If not him, I would have killed her myself with my bloody axe"

The knight had the decency to keep his mouth shut seeing he was all alone. He muttered a curse so lowly that Jon could not hear and pulled his breeches before looking for another priestess. 

  
  


Jon settled on the gables of the red temple even before the injured became the dead. Even before Dick Straw completed snatching the rings fingers from the slaves.

He leaned back against the gallows post and patted his bird wide-eyed and watching. Ghost was somewhere roaming in the streets.

  
  
  
  


"Ya know, I warned'em that we do dis for a living. I was gracious enough to give them that chance, I always do. Tis' a shame it had to come down like this. They so begged for blood. And they got it. Hahahaha, the killing fulfills my thirst. I told em that as well" Dick Straw roared, his cornflower blue eyes shining in the morning. The snow-white hair, black beard and numerous scars across his face made him look like some kind of demon. 

Jon noted Lys and Myr were quite similar. Both were slave cities ruled by conclaves of magisters, chosen from amongst the wealthiest and noblest men of the city. 

Both had their own gods but the red priesthood of R’hllor held sway and wielded considerable power up until the dawn. 

  
  


Two hundred priests and priestesses were lying dead. Some men with their scythes, swords and axes. Jon had personally sacked the damn temple with his men and his direwolf. 

The mercantile city was protected by high walls and hired sellswords, dominated by wealth rather than birth, cities where trade was valued as a more honourable profession than arms. The Tattered Prince waited patiently until the Company of Cats left the city for Tyrosh.

  
  


As the air blew from the east, the place smelled of smoke. Behind him crumbling red brick walls, Myr was the closest thing to hell. Jon observed. The myrish had sealed the broken gates to keep the dead and dying inside the city, but the sights that he had seen riding down those red brick streets was glorious. A river choked with corpses. The high priestess in her torn robes, impaled by Jon himself upon a stake and attended by a cloud of glistening green flies. Dying men staggering through the streets, bloody and befouled. Children fighting over half-cooked biscuits. One unfortunate magister of Myr, screaming naked in the alleyway as he was set on by a score of starving dogs. And fires. The flames everywhere as his eyes wander.

The eastern part of the city was still a smolder, though by now most of the great fires had burned out. Ashes floated lazy on the breeze like fat grey snowflakes. 

  
  


Even when he closed his eyes he could feel them. Orange flames whirling from brick monuments and temples, plumes of greasy smoke coiling upward like great black and grey vipers.

  
  


It was told trade has been the life of Myr ever since the Valyrians of old established the city, and Myrish ships have plied the waters of the narrow sea for centuries. The artisans of Myr, many of slave birth, were also greatly renowned. The windlblowns were not only raping and killing whoever they found in the city but they were also stealing the finest Myrish lace and Myrish tapestries, said to be worth their weight in gold and spice, and Myrish lenses had no equal in all the world. Jon could confirm that. He had his own Myrish lense earned after killing a poor thing a few moons back.

For a moment the people of Myr reminded Jon of the salty Dornishmen back in Sunspear. They looked Rhoynar enough as many of them share the same olive skin and dark hair as the river people.

As he saw a priest lay on the ground with his belly wide open and death was lingering on every corner Jon for some strange reason felt like singing. 

“ _Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done,the Dornishman’s taken my life,_

_But what does it matter, for all men must die, and I’ve tasted the Dornishman’s wife!"_

"THE DORNISHMAN'S WIFE" Dick Straw roared again followed by an ear shattering laughter. Some of the other members also joined as they smiled and laughed and sang. The mood was joyous.

" _The Dornishman’s wife would sing as she bathed, in a voice that was sweet as a peach, But the Dornishman’s blade had a song of its own, and a bite sharp and cold as a leech_ "

  
  


Jon closed his eyes and tried to feel the warm wind of Myr. He was not far from Dorne.

  
  
  


" _As he lay on the ground with the darkness around, and the taste of his blood on his tongue, His brothers knelt by him and prayed him a prayer, and he smiled and he laughed and he sung, Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done,_

_the Dornishman’s taken my life, But what does it matter, for all men must die,_

_and I’ve tasted the Dornishman’s wife!_ "

  
  


Jon noticed Ghost approaching him. His direwolf had grown tremendously. It was bigger than any dog or hound. Red eyes aglow as the taste of his blood on his tongue.

Old beans dogs greeted Ghost with a chorus of snarls and growls and wild barking, as ever, but the direwolf paid them no mind.

Just three moon turns ago the largest hound of the Windblown had attacked the albino from behind as they camped for the night in Lys but Ghost had turned and lunged, sending the dog fleeing with a bloody haunch. The rest of the pack maintained a healthy distance after that.

  
  


Jon went near his wolf and scratched his neck. Ghost loved whenever Jon did that. He called for his horse and took the saddle. 

Jon rode ahead in the city as he saw his men looting the markets and flaming the tents. Somewhere above a _monster_ soared on great red wings, while below came men and dogs and horses and one white direwolf.

Sheeps and goats wandered freely, while oxen plodded along the riverbank in search of grass. He could see men of Windblown were haunting animals as well. It would be a good feast for the boys. Jon thought.

At the centre of the city was a great fountain smelling of pine and moss and cold. Pale mists rose from the water through the scatter of small stones like jewels across the floor of the river valley below.

Jon leaped from Shadow and hopped near the water. He splashed the liquid across his face a couple of times and stood still. His fingers felt the bricks as he watched his reflection back. The water after a moment stopped to swirl and he could see his face clearly.

The scar he obtained from the axe wielded by that brute sent by Molaquo Maegyr was the first thing he noticed. A deep scar stretching from forehead to his left cheek. It was like a reminder to him the day everything went shit. He touched his face, feeling the scar. He had started to tide his hair in a bun. Pale hair, a small goatee, radiant eyes and that nasty scar made him look like a beast and Jon had to admit he liked what he saw. He had grown a bit tall; past six foot now. Broader shoulders and more muscled. 

He was dressed in high boots of soft, tooled leather, a wide belt studded with nuggets of silver, and a cloak of pale scarlet silk. A burning golden chain was embroidered diagonally in bright thread. An armour all black and thinner set than most knights of Westeros was his wearings but still strong enough to shield him from lesser steel and fast enough for him to move. The outline of a dragon had been graven into his breastplate as he'd instructed the smith back in Lys decorated with fine golden tracery. His kite shield was a massive steel bearing his personal sigil the dragon of Targaryen colors reversed with the wolf of Stark colors reversed. He liked the sigil. Most men in Windblown would call him 'magnificence' or 'radiance' as a sign of respect although some like Dick Straw would refer to him as 'dragon boy' or 'wolf pup' much to his extreme annoyance. The fucker even called him 'preety fuck' once. It was only after Jon warned him if he ever called him that he would find a steel somewhere uncomfortable the man stopped although he laughed at the threat and patted his back so hard that the scars on his back itched. 

  
  


Jon wondered how the Starks of Winterfell would think of him now living as a sellsword. _What would Robb say?_ Jon had no Idea. But he knew Arya would never judge him. _Bran would be horrified and Sansa…. I don't really care whatever she thinks._ The most troubling thought was what would Lord Stark think of him. _He would be disappointed and hate me. He would refer me as a fiend for killing innocent men and women._ Jon curled his hand into a fist. 

Jon haven't heard about them ever since he left Winterfell well over a year ago. Last he sent them a letter back at Starfall. He haven't even bothered to approach them after that. He wondered should he now? _No it won't do me any good._ Jon discarded the idea. _Lord Stark is living his life in his frozen castle. Robb may have married a beautiful northern girl and was learning to be a great lord like his father. Sansa might have started receiving offers for marriage by southern lords. Arya..._ well his wild sister was probably getting on the nerves of Lord and Lady Stark. The thought brought a smile to his face. He had promised Bran for gifts. Jon recalled. _Did he get the silly notion of being a knight out of his head?_ Some part of his mind went back to the dream where Bran fell from the tower. His face turned hard. _Rickon, that little wolf._ Jon was not sure if the boy would remember him. _They are all enjoying their life as it is why should I bother them? Would they even help me? Did they even miss me?_ Jon could not answer any of those questions.

  
  


He stood there motionless reflecting about his life. His time in Winterfell and even Sunspear. He missed Arthur. The smoke was clearing now. He could hear children crying nearby. Women shouting and men howling in pain. 

  
  


A rider approached him. Jon glanced at the man and recognized him as Will. Will of the Woods he was called. A filthy westerosi man who always looked drunk. 

"Your radiance, the Prince had called you to his tents" the brown haired dark eyed man said, his dark grey doublet was also filth. 

The man stink badly. Jon's nose wrinkled. _Even among the foul smell of death this one stinks worse._ Jon nodded to the man and left quickly.

Windblown were contracted by Lys to repay Myr and Tyrosh for poaching five ships full of comley young boys and girls meant to be pleasure house slaves. Although it was unknown who hijacked the ship yet the suspicious were always over the other two quarrelsome daughters of valyria. The endless feuds and struggles for dominion between the three cities have so often managed to embroil the kings and knights of Westeros.

  
  


The command came down from the Tattered Prince when it was confirmed that Bloodbard had left the city through his spies: strike the tents, load the mules, saddle the horses, and march for Myr at the break of dawn. 

  
  


He reached the tent. There was no doubting which tent was the prince’s. It was thrice the size of the next largest he’d seen, and he could hear music drifting from within. 

Green satin and sewn hides with the peaked roof was crowned with a huge set of antlers from one of the giant elks that had once roamed freely throughout the Seven Kingdoms, in the times of the First Men. Dick Straw had claimed Tattered Prince had got the antler while hunting in the vast forest of Qohor. _Flamboyance at its finest._

  
  


Four defenders were guarding the tent with two guards at the flap of the tent, leaning on tall spears with round leather shields strapped to their arms. When they caught sight of Ghost, one of them lowered his spearpoint and said, “That beast stays here.” in high valyrian.

Jon stared at the guard coldly. The other guard was about to rebuke the man but Jon commanded “Ghost, stay,” The direwolf sat. He brushed the ball of his thumb across his sword’s smooth pommel eyeing the sellsword before marching inside the tent. 

Inside it felt hot and smoky. Two men were laying the Myrish carpets on the ground. Dick Straw was grabbing the Myrish wine. Baskets of burning peat stood in all four corners, filling the air with a dim reddish light. 

Jon stood observing everyone as he awaited the pleasure of his commander who hailed himself Prince of Pentos. When his eyes had adjusted to the smoky red gloom, he saw Meris looking oddly at the lenses. Caggo was polishing his Valyrian arakh and D'haan was toying with Myrish bow. Full gold bands carved with writing covered his massive arms, and he wore a heavy shirt of grey ringmail. Zahrina stood over a brazier cooking a brace of goose. 

He met the eyes of the commander. The Pentoshi gestured to him to join the table. He noticed the table was also new one. He guessed it was looted from some magister's manse.

The board of _Cyvasse_ was already settled. Jon oft played the game with the commander. The Pentoshi was the only one in the group besides himself and Books who could play. The Tattered Prince was an educated man as he was raised to be the prince back in Pentos.

  
  
  


The screen was placed between the two sides down the middle of the board. Jon took the black side like he always does. 

He began to place all pieces on the board on his side and they began.

  
  


"I have heard you took two hundred men and sacked the red temple" the Tattered Prince told starting with his Rabble.

"Have Ser knight already complained to you about his lady love?" 

The Prince chuckled, "He did in fact but that is not why I asked you here"

"Then?" Jon pushed his Spearman forward.

"We are to leave the city at noon" Tattered Prince informed him. Jon was already expecting that. The recent conflict between Storm Crows and the Company of Cat left the later very weak. The rivalry between the Tattered Prince and Bloodbeard was well known. The old rag would want nothing more than to finish his archenemy and set his sight towards Pentos. Doing so fulfilling his contract with Lys. "The sooner the better" He said in his classical high valyrian accent.

  
  


"How can you be sure they won't be prepared for us?" asked Denzo D'haan in his bastard Valyrian. In ten moons Jon had learnt the tongue. It was difficult at first but in order to survive in the foreign land one could not take risks.

"They won't," Jon replied, trying his best in valyrian. "if we strike fast that is. I have already deployed men to guard the fleet, remember? And Cargo over there have burnt all the tower houses that could possibly send any ravens. As of now every single person outside Myr is clueless about the sacking of this city" 

Tattered Prince flashed him a smile. He had ridden with the Second Sons, the Iron Shields, and the Maiden’s Men, then joined with five brothers-in-arms to form the Windblown. Of those six founders, only he _remained_.

  
  


"Myr is but a taste,” The Pentoshi said loud and clear for everyone to hear inside the tent “Tyrosh will be the feast,” and the sellswords sent up a wild cheer. 

Dick Straw loudest, raising his cup high in the air. The sweet Myrish wine was running down his chin and into his black beard, but he smiled happily all the same and said, "We will fuck the Tyroshi on their arse and their pretty daughters as well" _Maybe I should gift a pretty Tyroshi to Ser Lucifer Long as a compensation for earlier._ Jon thought amused at the idea. He set up a Mountain to hide his King. 

"Tis not as if those Tyroshi bastards will be wanting us inside their colorful city, sniffing round their daughters,” predicted Baqq, the squint-eyed Myrish crossbowmen whose name meant Beans. The men of the Windblown used what names they would, and changed them at a whim. Even the commander of the Windblown kept his true name to himself.

"Tyrosh is governed by an archon, selected from amongst the members of a similar conclave. All three of these Lys, Myr and Tyrosh are slave cities, where bondsmen outnumber the freeborn three to one. All are ports, and the salt sea is their life’s blood" the Tattered Prince announced. His eyes observing everyone inside.

Jon's Crossbowman captured the old rag's Trebuchet.

  
  
  


“With their generals, small wonder they don’t march into the sea,” Beans put forth. Jon could not help but see his underlings, however.

  
  


"We got provisions here in Myr, fresh horses, food and all the lootings. We will be on to Tyrosh in just two days to dance with the Bloodbeard and his men. It's some leagues from Myr to Tyrosh by the sea" said Books, the clever one-eyed Volantene swordsman who always seemed to have his nose poked in some crumbly scroll, he always used to stick his nose on his dragon. 

_It runs in the blood. King Aerys II had been mad, all of Westeros knew that. He had exiled two of his Hands and burned a third. The boy won't be different. He even has a dragon for that._ Book had said once. Jon heard it from Lanster who heard that from Myrio Myrakis. 

  
  
  


Jon had dragged the man to show his madness in front of the other members of Windblown and used his dragger to cave out the left eye socket before attending him to Maester Shan. After this the Volantine with his one remaining eye seldom looked at him straight onto his own eyes. 

  
  
  
  


"The men are in good spirits. They will fight to a bitter end, and some more" Tattered Prince assumed. Jon sacrificed his own Elephant on the board to remove the Spearmen guarding the King. His aim was to get to the King. Not capture Heavy horses.

  
  


"They won't have to," Jon replied. He moved his Rabble piece to one side of the prince's Light Horse. Since Rabble was less powerful than Light Horse the old rag didn't value it much just as Jon thought he would. However, on the next turn Jon moved another Rabble straight to the Light Horse. With two Rabble pieces now straight to the Light Horse flanking, His Rabbles would capture the Light Horse leaving the opposition King vulnerable. 

"What are you implying?" After losing his Light Horse the old rag brought his Spearmen to shield his King but it was too late. He used his Dragon to leap the mountain and finish the King.

  
  


Jon licked his lips and titled his head to the board. "A King may be the most important piece on the board however the Dragon is the most powerful"

  
  


After noon they left the city of Myr. Ten ships had lifted the anchor at Myr carrying all the loot. Six of those ships had stayed behind together well enough to cover all the precious earnings from Myr. Four were leading and it would be enough. 

  
  
  


Jon was leading at the front. He stood at the deck with Ghost at his side and his bird at his shoulder. He could hear the sound of the wind caught in the canvas. The water was cold here, the currents strong and treacherous. Autumn in the narrow sea could often be wet and rainy but today the sky was clear. The sun was sweltering as the fingers of his sword hand opened and closed.

_In battle discipline beats numbers nine times of every ten_ , Lord Stark had once told him and Robb.

It was his plan to lead only four ships at the front. Roughly some thousands of swords. "We will be outnumbered by them and would have to play in the battlefield of their choosing" He'd explained the Windblown.

"They will see us and our number but they would not be cowed by us" 

  
  


"Our forces will be arranged like this'' Jon had drawn at the board. One of the reasons he was in high rank in Windblown was not just because of his dragon. It was also because he could read and write. He was raised by nobility. The others were not so fortunate. They'd fight for you and if the commander sent them in a suicidal charge they would die for you stupidly. 

"Just before all our troops land I will lead the charge with five hundred men to their cavalry" He'd explained to them back in the tent.

The response he got was interesting to say the least. The Tattered Prince tried to see what he was thinking. Cargo called him insane. Dick Straw had outright declared him a 'suicidal mad fucker'. Meris was as stoic as ever. Others laughed.

It took him quite a moment to calm them down and explain that when his line breaks, which it must, the Bloodbeard would charge forward with his men if the stories Jon heard about the man were true. "And that would be his undoing"

And when the Bloodbeard charges Jon would bring his hidden piece, _Bloodfyre,_ the red dragon onto the field to distract them and strike fear. Although the dragon was not large enough to harm an army alone, still seeing a dragon in the air could block one's wits for a good couple of minutes and that was all he needed. 

  
  


"They will have nowhere to go but backwards as we began to cut them down with ferrousity outflanking them and Bloodbeard would be trapped" 

He advised the Tattered Prince to join him then and cut off the remaining Company of Cats.

_Battle is like a cyvasse game. You don't need to kill every soldier. All you need is to finish the most important one and you'll win._ ****

The sharp salty smell of the air filled his nose and the vastness of horizons bounded only by a vault of azure sky above. Staring at the blue made him feel free. Jon watched as the fishes swam along beside the ship. Just then out of nowhere his red dragon assaulted a bigger fish grabbing it tight on his jaw and pulling it on the deck. The dragon threw the fish in the air before releasing red flames and devoured it. Jon stood there amazed and he was not the only one. The others were also gawking at the dragon with awestruck faces.

The magnificent beast soared above the ship in a wide circle. _Bloodfyre,_ he'd named the beast. The dragon always preferred to attack from above, Jon had observed. It was amusing to think that even in _cyvasse_ the Dragon always attacked from above.

Bloodfyre folded his wings and splashed into the sea. Whenever they travel in the ship he would often tumble from the sky with jaw snapping and tail lashing, shrieking and hissing, the salt water steaming off as his wings clawed at the air. The wingspans of the dragon as Jon guessed would be some six foot. He was as large as any big hound. _And he would only grow further._

The dragon would often hunt the sea animals sometimes miles ahead or miles behind. Jon needed the beast behind at the time of battle.

  
  


After two days of anchoring in the Sea of Myrth finally they reached near Tyrosh. Over the green-blue water came the slow steady beat of drums and the soft swish of oars from the galleys. He stood upon the forecastle watching the fortress city get closer. 

He glanced back at his men _. Twice before I have led them into a battle. Twice I have succeeded to gain their trust. Today would be no different._

  
  


He studied the men's faces. He could see determination and hunger in their eyes. Not a single one of them looked terrified. Dark enameled steel covered their torsos. On their heads were perched elongated helms complete with pointed steel beaks. Each man wore a longsword upon his hip, and some clasped a spear as tall as he was. Half of his men used crossbows, another half used swords and shields.

  
  


The torches shimmered brightly against the hammered metal pole, Jon drew his Qohorik sword from its sheath. The black balde shining even in the early morning like an onyx. "You see my brothers beyond that sea" he pointed with his sword towards the high towers of Tyrosh, "is glory and death. The greater the effort, the greater the glory. The lesser the effort, the lesser you live. I am marching to put the city on a torch and it's people on my sword. The question is not who is going to let me. The question begs who is going to _stop me_." The great cog groaned in their wake as Jon roared. The men on the deck cheered on top of their lungs. Wildly screaming and drumming their swords and shields. 

"Lesser men believe in luck and circumstances but not us. We are strong men. We only believe in cause and effect" The men again cheered. "Destroy without mercy and attack with no fear. Then we shall surely achieve our glory" _Fuck the glory. Fools. All of them._ Living with these sellswords Jon realised it's not only wine that can make men drunk. 

  
  


Their ship reached near the docks as drums beat in the distance. Further the breakwater he could see various tents of different colours expanded just outside the high towers. **_BOOM_ ** **_BOOM_ ** **_BOOM_ **. The Company of Cats had camped just outside the walls of Tyrosh. Their numbers were estimated to be thirty five hundred. 

  
  


Jon was confident the Company of Cats would not be prepared for his assault. The turn was the first break of the light. Many would be in brothels inside the city. Plenty were doubtless slumbering in those tents. They won't even get an opportunity to gather their full mass. 

  
  


Standing atop the forecastle, Jon growled, " _Knock_ " the soldiers were below on the deck with crossbows on their hand.

The arrows and bows were as deadly as the sword, especially Myrish bows, so he had insisted the Tattered Prince use them. He'd seen their effectiveness back in _Cinnamon Wind_ as stated by that Summer Islander Malthar Qo.

Jon had also recommended Tattered Prince to break the command into four companies of two hundred bowmen and place each company upon the four ships. Only a dragonbone bow could outrange one made of goldenheart. The Myrish were rich in that field. _These bowmen will be my Catapults and Trebuchets for now._

They were resolved to attack the Tyroshi fleet at dawn. As the great ship crawled near the harbour he could see Tyroshi at the docks panicking. 

  
  
  


" _Loose_ " Eight hundred bolts took the air cutting through wind and penetrating every single person standing on the anchor.

  
  


Crossbows were easier to aim than longbows as things go the crossbowman didn't have to use a hand to hold the string back while aiming.

" _Knock_ " They pulled back on the string, hooked it to a small bit at the back of the crossbow, loaded the bolt. This whole process took only about half a minute.

**_BOOM._ **

If used properly it could kill a man in plate armour under two hundred yards. 

**_BOOM._ **

  
  


The kettle drums were beating loudly as was his heart. 

  
  


" _Loose"_ More bows jutted through air. _Clang, Clang, Clang._ The sound of bolts leaving the Myrish device. Jon could see many sailors and merchants running everywhere before the bolts hit them. A few splashed on sea. Some dead, some alive.

Some even hid inside their ship. _Not so wise_. Jon thought. 

"Bring the catapults" he ordered Lewis Lanster.

Nearly a five foot wooden structure was brought at the docks pulling the carts. Jon had to admit the Myrish were experts in creating weapons like those. It was like a slightly bigger crossbow. 

"Lit the barrels" He commanded his men. His ship was leading a few yards ahead. So the three ships right behind him would imitate every action they did.

Timbers, woods and branches were filled inside the steel barrels. Three dozens in one ship. _The brightest flames cast the darkest shadow._

The inferno danced inside the barrels while the crossbowmen began to light the tip of their bolt and load the crossbows and the catapult.

"FIRE" Jon shouted, jerking his sword hand in the direction of the ships. Burning arrows darted at the Tyroshi fleets catching the ships in flames. Jon was not deluding himself when he said he would put the city on a torch. 

  
  


The two wooden arms that stick out of the sides were connected to ropes at the catapults. As the arms were pulled back, the ropes twisted around a wench, building tension. Two men loaded the bolts and the pressure was released by letting go of the arms, the ropes were unwound and huge aflame darts launched into the air.

The long white oars of the Myrish galleys flashed like candles and the released arrows flew like dragonflies. Seeing that be felt a shiver down his spine 

_I didn't want to burn those ships. The merchants did me nothing wrong, no more than the civilians inside the city walls._ Jon reminded himself. _But I needed to draw the smoke to hide my main piece on the board._ _Whatever it takes._

The sea itself seemed to have taken fire and blood. Blue-green water turned red. Jon could feel a tightness in his guts, and it seemed to him that the tide was pounding louder than before. The shore near the sea was red. Blood of the merchants, oarsmen, sailmakers, fishermen with their nets and city guards mixed with water emerging as red liquor.

  
  


As they launched more and more arrows, more than half of the Tyroshi fleet were ablaze. Two galleys one drifted by himself and other by Dick Straw ashore on the grounds, and two more, larger than the previous, captained by Tattered Prince and Denzo D'haan, standing well out into the seashore, firing barrels of burning pitch from Myrish catapults.

  
  


_The seaside’s ours now._ Jon thought to himself. At the distance he could see the camp waking. _We need to move now. Their cavalry is not ready for the moment._

The air was full of smoke and arrows and screams. Jon ordered his men to bring the horses. It was not an easy task. The horses would be terrified of fires. 

  
  


The orange flash of morrow faintly lighted the scene of havoc, and its rays mingled with the flushed glow of the flames.

  
  


The mists rose before his eyes as Jon saddled himself on top of his horse. Five hundred of his men did the same. He pulled his helmet and grabbed the shield on one hand and his sword on the other and let out a furious war cry. "And now we ride,” The men followed the same and they rode ahead.

  
  


They were arrayed on three sides of the city, all but the backwards side, surrounded by three different troops. Jon would lead one. Denzo D'haan would lead another light cavalry of nine hundred horses straight towards the enemy's camp from the northern bank. Pillaging and plundering everything on their path and the Tattered Prince would lead the last with five hundred men. A thousand more would stay behind guarding their loots.

Jon and his men were there to trap Bloodbeard. Jon rode first as fast as he could and pulled the reins to the other side, turning his direction. He was a good rider. Many people back in the North and even men of Windblown had claimed he rode like a centaur. Ghost was at his heels running with equal pace. Behind him, his fellow sellswords were raising the flag of Windblown proudly for all to see. Streamers of pale blue silk fluttered from their lances, whilst fork-tailed blue-and-white banners flew overhead, the standards of the Windblown. A clear message to the Company of Cats. _Come and fight us._

  
  


And Bloodbeard didn't disappoint. Hundreds and more so horses were running in their direction with their own sigil behind. Ahead loomed the city towers with archers ready. 

  
  


Above the sky awash with grey smoke. _Now is the moment._ Jon thought but his dragon didn't come. _What happened?_ As they marched forward there was still no screeching or hissing. He was a bit panicked now. _It should have arrived by now._ Jon could not command his dragon as good as Ghost or Shadow but the red beast oft listened. Bloodfyre was a smart creature. He would know when to hide and show up. _Fuck_.

He paced his mount a bit slow. His men also understood the dragon was not showing up but they would still march forward. _I didn't come all the way here to die. I will survive. I must keep moving forward. The_ enemies were almost upon them. The sight made his heart beat faster. Jon gripped his sword tightly and again let out a cry, and then he heard the screech.

  
  


A shadow rippled above him. A dark shade nearly invisible but the presence was there nevertheless. The sky went grey as the walls of Winterfell. The screams and the shouts of men died for a moment. Jon could feel every eye turned skyward. It was a terrible screech, a wail of fury that seemed to burn the ears.

  
  


His scales were crimson, his eyes and horns and spinal plates blood red. _It couldn't be timed any better._

As his dragon flew above the enemy their mounts started panicking and their line began to fall. "Attack" Jon shouted as he urged his mount forward.

  
  


He quickly signalled his men to disperse, outflanking them. He drove the point of his sword at the chest of a man in a dotted jerkin, lifting him full from his horses before dropping. The man was so shocked he couldn't even defend.

  
  


A spear thudded against his shield but Jon quickly opened the spearman from shoulder to armpit. He rode down a couple of foot soldiers and sliced the neck of a man up a horse. 

Ghost dashed beside him, tearing down at every foe they passed as if a dragon above was not enough to terrorise the swarm of horses and men. They rode past men after men. His sword and shield showered in red. Sweats were dripping from his forehead but Jon didn't stop. He moved forward. Hard upon Shadow he rode, slashing right and left as his longsword went through the Cats like a butter.

  
  


He saw Dick Straw stiff and tall upon an armored horse in a suit of copper scale smashing a man in the face with all the weight of his axe and arm and charging the horse, taking off half the enemy's head. The savage of a man was even killing horses and pretty much everything in his path. Jon wouldn't be surprised if he saw Dick slicing their own man.

To the far side of the ground he looked at the Tattered Prince in his grey war horse leading the remaining Windblown. Even from afar he noticed the spotted hindquarters covered with ragged strips of cloth torn from the surcoats of men the prince had slain. The prince’s cloak was sewn together from more of the same. 

_An old man he maybe,_ _past sixty_ , _yet he still sits straight and tall in the high saddle, and his voice strong enough to carry to every corner of the field._ Jon admired this about the man. 

Bloodfyre hissed from the azure and for the first time in the field blasted flames behind the enemies, bathing the sellswords in orange and blocking the camp for reinforcement, that was assuming if they dared to fortify. Jon wondered how Aegon the Conqueror must have felt flying in the sky burning his foes and ending the battle with such ease.

Ahead he identified what remained of the isolated troops. They were scared Jon could tell. A giant of a man in a brown desterier whose surcoat showed a black cat through a white field, rode ahead yelling so loud that almost everyone nearby could have heard him. Rings of gold and jade and jet glistened on his arms. The giant wore a cat shaped helm with pointed ears and a bush of red beard. Bloodbeard, Jon recognised the savage commander of the Company of Cats. The man was said to have a ferocious appetite for slaughter who made no secret of his disdain for “old grey-beards in rags" Tattered Prince. _Time to end this butchery._

  
  
  


Jon pulled the strap and launched forward. As he inched near Bloodbeard Ghost abruptly jumped at the brown mare taking down the rider on the ground. No sooner the man stood on his feet picking up his warhammer Jon swiftly hacked his neck from behind, cleaning his head off. _So much for the plugging._ Jon thought sarcastically albeit frozen, peering at the head of Bloodbeard. _I imagined the duel would be like Robert Baratheon and Rhaegar Targaryen. The one for ages. How disappointing._

If not for his dragon they might well have been vanquished, but the Windblown were ahorse in minutes and came thundering down on the Company of Cats flanks as they pushed through the enemies camp from the other side and met them spear to spear and shield to shield.

Jon climbed down from his horse and picked up the discarded head of the enemy's commander. He laid a hand upon the head of the corpse, removed the helm from the head and grabbed the cherry hair for everyone in the battleground to see. Blood flowing down from the neck. 

  
  


On the crown of the hill four-and-forty monstrous stone ribs rose from the ground of Tyrosh like the trunks of great pale trees. Even the archers there were shaken by the presence of a dragon.

It had taken the Windblown less than an hour to strike their camp. The rest was butchery very much like in Myr but this time it was on Tyrosh with the Company of Cats on the wrong end of the cleaver. Caggo was the one who cut down most of the Bloodbeard's close men, fighting through the camp on his monstrous warhorse and finishing Jorge the butcher from shoulder to belly with one blow of his curved Valyrian arakh. The desperate members of Company of Cats surrendered, throwing their weapons and begging on their knees.

The Tattered Prince had ordered men to not kill those who surrendered. Jon had use of those men. He walked on the ground outside the Tyroshi walls. His high boots grinding against the stones and dirt. Smokes were drifting here and there everywhere. Carts and barrels aflame. Many men lay dead. Some with axes upon their belly and some with spears between their eyes. The proud flagship of the Company of Cats torn and burnt. The Windblowns were stealing from the dead. 

Swords, shields, golds whatever they got. _Gods be good the old rag was right. Myr was but a taste. Tyrosh is the feast. A feast for crows._ Jon thought. _And we haven't even reached inside the city._ Just the scenery from the burning harbour to the camps outside the city towers were chaos. Jon shuddered to think what would be left of this city come sunset. 

The remaining Company of Cats threw down their spears and shields and ran, only to find the gates of Tyrosh shut behind them. When they burst through on the other side, the Tattered Prince had wheeled them round and led them through again. Thousands of the Company of Cats were led by the Windblowns atop their horses with pointed spears and swords.

  
  


With a dragon in blue and their commander dead everyone had stopped the fighting and were looking at the beast in the sky with fearful eyes. 

  
  
  


He was now standing upon a rock, his sword and Bloodbeard's head closed onto his hand. His direwolf by his side like always. The Tattered Prince, Denzo D'haan, Cargo, Meris, Dick Straw were also there. Before him were his yielded foes. As Jon got a good look at the faces beneath the spiked bronze caps and realized that nearly half of those troops were perhaps a couple of years little older than he was. Green boys praying for mercy, he considered, but smart enough to lay their weapons down.

A hush fell upon them as every eye was on him; friends and foes alike. "Hear me all the members of Company of Cats" Jon began. His voice strong and loud enough for everyone there to listen, "my name is Daemon Targaryen of the Windblown. Today marks the day where your mercenary group ceased to exist. The dragon you see right now above in the sky is mine. I intend to take my kingdom from the Usurper sitting in my home beyond the narrow sea through the help of my dragon and my men,

"As of right now I extend you a choice and advise you to choose carefully" He placed a fist on his chest and said, "I offer you freedom. I offer you strength. Join me. Take my hand and unite within our brotherhood. This world only values strength and riches. I will give you the same. Strength? What is mightier than a dragon you tell me? None. Riches? The gold you earn by killing men in this shithole is nothing compared to the gold you can have beyond that sea. Knighthood, lands, holdfast. You can have it all.

"I see all your faces. Young boys. Green boys with barely a food on your belly. While you master" Jon yanked Bloodbeard's head distastefully, the two gold earrings were shining "is showered with gold. I believe to never take from the mouth of labor the bread it has earned. I ask you where's your bread?" 

All of them bowed their heads.

  
  


"Born with hunger and chained to death. Is that what you all are?"

Again no one spoke.

  
  


After a long pause he declared, "You are all free" _Free_ _to serve me. I will take their freedom to gain my kingdom._ "If you join me"

"Did you not see the bleeding star that was soaring in the sky for the past nine months? Even the gods have given me their blessing. Join me and together we shall ride to the hills of Andolas and take over the city of Pentos. Together we shall sail to the hundreds isles of Braavos. Together we shall destroy the Black walls of Volantis and their Red Gods. Together we shall sail to Westeros with thousands of ships like Nymeria once did and together we shall conquer the seven kingdoms like my ancestor Aegon the Conqueror. We will be even stronger than the Bittersteel's Golden Company"

  
  


Jon paused catching his breath, "Join me and have it all …..or else" Bloodfyre shrieked from the heavens and landed near him. The sharp shrill sound that could cut through the bloodshed like a knife through curds. A shivering scream that made a man’s bones seem to thrum within him. With direwolf and dragon at his side and a motionless head on his hand. Jon imagined he made quite an impressive sight, "refuse and die" He threw the head on the ground as it rolled down the rock.

  
  


One by one every one of them bend their knees as though they were paying him a homage. Thousands laid before him and Jon could not hide his smile. 

"Stand up my brothers you need not to kneel in front of me" Jon thundered raising his sword, "stand up and take up your arms for we got a city to _burn_ " All the Windblowns and the Company of Cats cried together and Jon knew he'd won over them.

  
  
  


Two moons later Jon was sailing north along the Braavosi coast towards the city of Braavos with five and a half thousand soldiers of the new Windblown combined with the remnants of the previous Company of Cats. Many liked to style themselves as _the Dragon's army._ Though not in the earshot of the Tattered Prince. Jon liked the latter name. 

After his grand speech, the Windblown archers took down the guards at the towers. The gate turned out to be closed but not barred; it gave way at the second blow, and the Company of Cats men were halfway up the throat before a horn was blown signalling the surrender of the city 

As they breached the feeble city walls of Tyrosh burning down the high towers of the fortress city and sent the archon of Tyrosh running about in his fluttering _tokar_ who was trying his best to get his half-trained slave soldiers into some semblance of order as Unsullied spears came crashing through their siege lines only to die and once all set was done Jon had expected to lose half men from both sides, perhaps more but only a combined thousand lost their life with eight hundred or more were Bloodbeard's men, they'd sailed together for Braavos..

At the far northwestern corner of Essos, where the Shivering Sea and the nNarrow sea come together, the Free City of Braavos stood upon its famed “hundred isles” amidst the shallow brackish waters of a fog-shrouded lagoon.

The wealthiest and the most powerful of Free Cities, founded by slaves. The city should not be taken lightly. Jon reminded himself. They'd not come here to invade like Myr and Tyrosh. No he'd come here to collect his gold whatever Rhaegar left for him. 

Truth be told Jon wanted nothing to do with this city. The city despised dragonlords and their kinds as such the city was led by the Moonsingers with the slaves as a place of refuge as an escape from the old freehold where the dragons of Valyria could not find them. It was a tale every Braavosi told. 

  
  
  


Faint and far away the light burned, low on the horizon, shining through the sea mists as sailors scrambled up and down the three tall masts and moved along the rigging, reefing the heavy purple sails. Below, oarsmen heaved and strained over two great banks of oars. The decks tilted, creaking, as the galley _Wind Witch_ crawled to the craggy and high and topped by tall pines.

  
  


_The Titan of Braavos_. Old Nan had told them stories of the Titan back in Winterfell. He was a giant as tall as a mountain, and whenever Braavos stood in danger he would wake with fire in his eyes, his rocky limbs grinding and groaning as he waded out into the sea to smash the enemies. He'd missed the Old Nan and her fanatical stories. "The Braavosi feed him on the juicy pink flesh of little highborn girls,” Sweet Nan would end. But Maester Luwin said the Titan was only a statue, and Old Nan’s stories were only stories.

  
  
  


A large circle of Islands became visible. Captain Qos, the captain of _Wind_ _Witch_ , had claimed "It shields the lagoon within filled with islands of Braavos from prying eyes and the chilly winds''

The Titan was a sight terrifying to behold. Jon gazed at the monument in wonder. _How long did it take to build this?_ His eyes were huge beacon fires, lighting the way for returning ships back inside the lagoon.

Within his bronze body were halls and chambers, murder holes and arrow slits, such that any vessel that dared to force the passage would surely be destroyed. His legs bestrode the gap, one foot planted on each mountain, carved of solid stone, the same black granite as the sea monts on which he stood, though around his hips he wore an armored skirt of greenish bronze. His shoulders looming tall above the jagged crests. His breastplate was bronze as well, and his head in his crested half helm. 

As they row beneath the Titan he gave a mighty roar. So loud that Jon could feel even Ghost was panicking. Jon himself was startled as thought what if Bloodfyre decided to roar back. It would reveal their cover. He was hiding his dragon at the lower deck of the great galley. The captain of the ship from Myr had agreed to sail them to Braavos. He was not alone however. Twelve galleys were sailing together. Some from Myr and some from the Tyroshi fleet. 

"He warns the Arsenal of our coming, that is all,” The Captain yelled from the deck.

Jon nodded. The looming shadow of Titan felt upon as they soared inside the Bastard Daughter of Valyria. 

Ahead rose another sea mont, a knob of rock that pushed up from the water like a spiked fist, its stony battlements bristling with scorpions, spitfires, and trebuchets. “The Arsenal of Braavos,” the Captain had named it. “They can build a war galley there in a day.” Jon could see dozens of galleys tied up at quays and perched on launching slips. The painted prows of others poked from innumerable wooden sheds along the stony shores, like hounds in a kennel, lean and mean and hungry, waiting for a hunter’s horn to call them forth. There were too many to count and more docks and sheds and quays where the shoreline curved away. _Volantis may have its Black Walls, but Braavos has a wall of ships such as no other city in the world possesses._ Jon thought to himself.

  
  


Far east he could barely make out the Sealord's palace. "Neither prince nor king commands in Braavos" Captain Qos had said, "here the rule belongs to the Sealord, chosen by the city’s magisters and keyholders from amongst the citizenry by a process as convoluted as it is arcane" 

  
  
  


From his vast waterside palace, the Sealord commands a fleet of warships second to none and a mercantile fleet whose purple hulls and purple sails have become a common sight throughout the known world.

The galley turned southward as they prepared to dock at Ragman Harbour. The harbour was open to every foreigner unlike the Purple Harbour.

  
  


As they traveled near the harbour he could see people were out in the boat on the little canal behind the houses. Just looking at the canals from the ship Jon could make out various people of different origins. Some looked ebony like Summer Islanders whereas some looked Tyroshi with their dyed hair. They were a diverse people, whose numbers included Andals, Summer Islanders, Ghiscari, Naathi, Rhoynar, Ibbenese, Sarnori, even debtors and criminals of pure Valyrian blood. The captain had claimed that some had been trained in arms to serve as guardsmen and slave soldiers; others were bed slaves, whose art was the giving of pleasure. 

"There are many sorts of household slaves amongst them, your magnificence. Tutors, nursemaids, cooks, grooms, and stewards. Others are skilled craftsmen: carpenters, armorers, masons, and weavers. Some are fishermen, some field hands, some galley slaves, many common laborers. The new freedmen spoke many tongues, so the tongue of their late masters, Valyrian became their common language" Captain Qos had informed him.

  
  


They'd docked their galleys at the harbour and Jon had confirmed to Tattered Prince that he would travel to the Iron Banks the next day.

  
  


The sky was void of clouds the next day when they reached the broad straight waterway that was the Long Canal, they turned south for the fish market.

Jon had taken three of his men ; Lanster, Jack, Harlaw and a local Braavosi sailor with him. Victor he was called. Captain Qos had recommended Jon to take the man. 

The Long Canal took Victor's small boat beneath the green copper domes of the Palace of Truth and the tall square towers of the Prestayns and Antaryons before turning north passing under another large canal named Green Canal. 

Flowing with the Green Canal they rowed past the fish market swarming with herring sellers and cod wives, oystermen, clam diggers, stewards, cooks, smallwives, and sailors off the galleys, all haggling loudly with one another as they inspected the morning catch. People were even jumping from boat to boat, having a look at all the shellfish, and from time to time. 

Seeing all this Jon wondered how big the world truly was and also how ignorant he was. As he lived thirteen years in the castle of Winterfell all he could make out people as in were highborn or lowborn. Nothing else. Not this. The commoners in Wintertown never lived their life like this. He would not see children running at the isles with their fathers catching fish. He would not see an old couple rowing together in a boat. He scarcely saw young boys jumping and laughing with young girls, sharing the same horn of mead. 

_They are living so peacefully._ Jon told himself. No highborns looking down on them. No nobility. Nothing. If you are able, you earn. Braavos truly was an amazing city. _So was Myr and Tyrosh before you destroyed them. There were also people living like this. Men with children and family you destroyed. In hopes to find your home someday you destroyed thousands of other homes. A_ part of his head whispered. 

"Corn,” the bird said, pulling him out of his musings.

  
  


He shook his head to get those thoughts out. He took out some beans from his pocket and held them in his palm. The raven settled on his wrist and started to feed himself.

"How long would it take to reach there?" Jon asked Victor, the Braavosi.

"Just a couple of hours, more your magnificence" His voice was low. Jon noticed the man didn't look him in his eyes while he spoke.

He glanced at his three men. They were also queerly silent.

"So is this what you do for living?" Jon again began the conversation. The man nodded feverishly but didn't say anything.

"Have cats got your tongue sailor? Speak sailor" Jon ordered the Braavosi.

"Yes, your magnificence. My family's been in this profession for a long time. My father was also a sailor. His father before him as well." The man parroted way too quickly. _He's afraid._ Jon realized. 

"And your son after you, right?" Jon guessed,

" _Right, Right, Right_ " the raven parroted. Interrupting the talk.

The man didn't say anything. There was an awkward silence.

"Speak, you fool. His radiance has asked you a question" Jack, the Westerosi bastard born from some tavern wench, said harshly glaring at the Braavosi. Jon gave the man a warning look. 

  
  


The sailor tilted his head and looked at Jon. The man had big summer blue eyes and round face. His hair was light brown tangled. "I don't have any sons, your magnificence. Two daughters"

Jon frowned. _Why is he speaking as though I am about to rape his daughters_?

"You don't look happy about this" Jon commented, keeping a close eye on the man.

"No no your grace. I am truly happy and content with my life. My daughters are everything to me. I love them more than anything in this world. It's just…" the man suddenly shut his mouth. 

"Just what? Speak your mind" Jon insisted. The man was anxious and Jon wanted to know why.

"I have heard stories, your magnificence. Dark stories lately. It's flying in every port and canals in Braavos…"

"What stories?"

"The stories about the _demon_ " the man whispered. His eyes wide open.

"Stop answering partially and out with it, Victor" Jon ordered sharply. The man made him more curious by each second.

"The followers of R'hllor speak about the birth of a demon when the dragon's tail lofted in the sky a year ago" The man said, he looked as pale as milk. "The dragon's tail marks the birth of a demon with the dragon it is said. The day the comet rose two high priests in Volantis died and Captain Qos told me about your dra...dragon" 

_Ahh so that's why he looks so frightened. Of course those slaves won't leave me be._ Jon was surprisingly amused by all that. _I have sacked two of their temples and put a sword over thousand of them now. I wonder what they will call me next._

At the very least those slaves didn't give his name away. Jon was thankful for that but now he seriously needed to put an end to all this mundane affairs. The Seven Kingdoms have no faith in R'hllor no more than Jon had. _Whatever I do here won't be of high consequence there_ or so he hoped, _but I wonder have these stories reached Old Town and Kingslanding and White Harbor?_ He didn't hold a shadow of a doubt that in a few moons even people of Westeros shall know about the fate of Myr and Tyrosh. _Will the news of a dragon spread far and wide?_ Jon thought about the possibility. He quickly denied. _It won't. If every people started believing the tales of sailors then the whole Essos and Westeros would be full of dragons as large as a castle by now._ Every Ibbense sailor claimed they'd seen a dragon bigger than a mountain at the Shivering Sea yet few believe them. This time would not be any different. 

Jon flashed the man a pleased smile, "I look wholly alright, don't I? Pray tell me good man, do you see any monstrous fangs or grotesque horns and tails? I think you don't" The man turned his head and continued rowing.

An hour or so later, they finally reached the place called Iron Bank of Braavos. 

  
  


Kings, princes, archons, triarchs, and merchants beyond count travel from the ends of the earth to seek loans from the heavily guarded vaults of the Iron Bank.

  
  
  


The castle rose from the shores of Green Canal on a soaring pile of bright white stone surrounded on three sides by the surging waters. Humongous stairway was i's only approach as it was defended by a gatehouse, behind which lay the long bare ridge. 

He took Lanster and Jack with him. The other guy stayed with Victor at the canal. Jon wore his best dress for the day. A long red collar shirt and black tight leather breeches, jerkin and high boots. His golden chain and the finest Tyroshi silver belt at his waist. A couple of rubies around his fingers. A cloak fashioned from fine black silk lined with bear fur that was fastened by a clasp of gold in the shape of a dragon’s eye. He was going to discuss something that could potentially make or destroy everything about his future. He might as well dress respectfully. Jon had studied the Iron Bank with everything he could.

_The Iron Bank will have its due._ It was said. _Let's see if they give my dues._

They slipped through the big wooden door onto the alleyway. The passage was long and narrow and for a moment Jon had no idea where to go. He asked a passing man about the keyholders. The man was homely looking and he appeared very dull. Even his response was like a half yawning.

The man led them to a room and requested him to wait. Different statues and paintings of keyholders and mongrels were all over the wall. He gazed at the paintings. It was well known the founders of the Iron Bank numbered three-and-twenty; sixteen men and seven women, each of whom possessed a key to the bank’s great subterranean vaults. Jon was told their descendants, whose numbers now exceed one thousand, were known as keyholders to this day, though the keys they display proudly on formal occasions were now entirely ceremonial. Certain of the founding families of Braavos had declined over the centuries, and a few have lost their wealth entirely, yet even the meanest still cling to their keys and the honors that go with them.

The Iron Bank was not ruled by the keyholders alone, however. Some of the wealthiest and most powerful families in Braavos today were of more recent vintage, yet the heads of these houses shared in the bank, sat on its secret councils, and had a voice in selecting the men who lead it. As per Captain Qos, in Braavos golden coins count for more than iron keys. The bank’s envoys crossed the world, oft upon the bank’s own ships, and merchants, lords, and even kings treat them almost as equals. _I wonder how they'd treat me._ Jon knew he was playing with fire here. One wrong move and they'd tell Robert Baratheon about my existence and God knows what havoc that would cause. _One way or the other I have to face that man if I ever hope to achieve the crown._

The door opened and the same homely man requested them to follow in valyrian tongue. Jon and his men complied as they were led to another room.

As he entered the large room he saw a tall gaunt stick of a man standing across a large table waiting for them. His was a redicuolis three-tiered purple hat. The man looked as though his smile never left his face. 

Jon motioned his men to place the box on the table and leave. Both of them bowed and left. The smiling man was keenly observing them with that creepy grin of his.

"A fine day, my lord. I am Tycho Nestoris, an honorable emissary of the Iron Bank of Braavos" The joyful banker doffed his hat and made a sweeping bow.

He spoke the Common Tongue flawlessly, with only the slightest hint of accent. Se height as Jon, the Braavosi sported a beard as thin as a rope sprouting from his chin and reaching almost to his waist. His robes were a somber purple, trimmed with ermine. A high stiff collar framed his narrow face. 

"A very fine day indeed my lord. I go by the name Daemon Targaryen, trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark" Jon introduced himself observing the reaction of the man. He never dropped his smile. Jon could not tell if that was a good thing or not.

"Forgive me my lord. I am a bit surprised. It's not everyday that a Targaryen comes here in our door" The man faked another smile,

"Yes that is to be expected" Jon faked his own smile,

"Pardon for asking this my lord but what proof do you have that you say who you are" the man questioned although he was already eyeing the box between them.

Jon brushed his fingers through the chest and slowly took out each paper. The marriage annulment between Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen, the marriage certificate of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen signed by the High Septon and the official envoy papers and the key.

  
  
  


The man started reading each paper carefully and Jon read the man. He would never have believed if he was told the man in front of him was a keyholder and emissary of the Iron Bank. He appeared way too ordinary for that. When Jon first thought about keyholders he'd imagined fat goose in rich robes and gold showering all their bodies like a magister of any other free city but then again it was Braavos he was talking about. 

"I have to admit these papers are strong proof but…"

"But what my lord? Now I have to bring a witness as well?"

“I am but only a simple servant of the Iron Bank of Braavos no lord” the man stated, "as for the witness you need not bring. I remember the prince of dragonstone and truth be told you'd be surprised to find that it was myself who commenced his banking narrative. I can see much of him in you now that I get a closer look at you" Jon was surprised to learn that "if not that then there are, just so you know, many reports about a fanatical beast fleeting around the lands of our adjourn sisters" _Gods be good, how the fuck did they found out about Myr and Tyrosh so quickly._

  
  


"One ship alone may founder, where three together may aid one another. The Iron Bank is always prudent in such matters to say the least." Jon didn't miss the hidden threat. _He is_ _judging me._ Jon realized. The men of Iron Banks are masters of negotiations. _I haven't even told him about my intention yet he already knows what I am about to say. He's considering if I can be a friend or an enemy._ If it is former their goal is agreement and if latter then the goal is victory.

"But as I was saying, even though you are son of the Rhaegar Targaryen the vault your sire opened would not be valid" the banker declared. _What?_

"May I know the reason as to why because I was told by _someone_ that I am the only claimant of that vault" 

"Just so….should I call you your grace or.."

"Call whatever you are wont to but answer my question" Jon grumbled, already annoyed and the banker was annoying him more with those fake courtesies.

"As you will your grace, the vault opened by Rhaegar Targaryen is intact and even the current King Robert Baratheon could not access it however seeing as though the vault was opened by previous ruler it is kept as an insurance" the Braavosi spoke softly as if it wasn't a big deal.

"Insurance of what" Jon asked calmly. He'd already guessed what the answer might be.

"The debt that the crown owns us"

Jon sighed, shaking his thumbs over his forehead. "How much?"

"That I can't tell you, your grace" the banker shook his head.

  
  


"You are claiming money as an insurance for the crown and have the nerve to say you can't tell me about the debts the crown owes you" Jon was incredulous now. 

The man studied his face before answering, "As of the moment I can't give you the exact number but the debt is to be expected over seven million gold dragons" 

_Seven hells_ . _Not only is the crown vault empty but Seven millions fuckin gold dragons in debt? And here I am promising men golds to win an already debt crown._

He looked at the banker. The man looked sullen for the first time. _Even the Iron Banks are troubled on how to get their money back._ Jon was caught between rock and a hard place.

Jon whistled. _Damn you Robert fucking Baratheon_ "How much money could I access from Rhaegar's vault?" He had to ask this.

The man blinked before answering, "Well over a million gold dragon I can tell. It needs to be seen" _It would be enough._ "Although I have to tell you weren't the first Targaryen to ask that" 

Jon narrowed his eyes. _Yes, how could I forget about them._

  
  


"Tell me something Tycho what would happen _if_ the Iron Throne ceases all repayment.”

"The Iron Bank will have its due" The Banker answered in a heartbeat as though he was already prepared.

"So you say. I guess it was pleasure working with the crown"

"It was indeed our pleasure to assist His Grace in his need" The Banker answered, _``He calls me your grace in one moment and calls Robert in another. Truly the Iron Banks could never be trusted._

"What if somebody else takes the Iron throne?" Jon asked further, licking his lips.

  
  


"The debts belong to the Iron Throne,” Tycho declared, “and whoso-ever sits on that chair must pay them"

"If the King and his counsellors have become so obdurate, would you mean to broach the subject with another King?"

The man paused for a moment thinking about the answer, "Should he prove himself more worthy of our trust, it would of course be our great pleasure to lend him whatever help he needs.”

Jon smiled hearing that. A sinister smile.

" _Help_ ,” the raven screamed. “ _Help, help_ , _help_ .” Jon had nearly forgotten about the bird _._

"Excellent. I do have some preference that we both can benefit from" Jon offered leaning front,

Tycho bowed his head "I am at your service, your grace. And in Braavos we say there is no time like the present. Will that suit?”

  
  
  


It took the better part of an hour before the impossible became possible, and another hour before they could agree on terms. By the time Jon signed the parchment it was past noon. 

  
  


"I hope to return soon, my lord" Jon informed the banker.

  
  
  


"If it pleases Your Grace, it will please the Iron Bank" said Tycho again grinning like an idiot.

  
  


"I am counting on you for the success of meeting, Tycho. Best not fail me. Any loss of mine is a loss of the Iron Bank, remember that." Jon warned the man glancing back at him as he was about to leave.

  
  


"I would for sure." The Braavosi slipped the roll of parchment inside a wooden tube. "I hope to have the honour of calling on Your Grace again when you are seated on your Iron Throne" _You hope to have your gold._

  
  
  


_In life, as in cyvasse, one's own Rabbles block one's way. A man's wealth, comfort, children, which should help him to win, more often make him lose._

No sooner he reached the boat he laughed like a mad man. Hearing his laughter the poor sailor was shaking like a leaf. Jon was pleased as the day went. A couple of hours later he returned to _Winds of Witch_ at the Ragman Harbor but he was called by the Tattered Prince. He went to the galley _Lady of Myr_ , where the Tattered Prince resided. Inside his cabin he saw the old rag with a wine in his hand and his two commanders at his side near the table.

Jon was sure the Tattered Prince was not pleased with the power he now had over Windblown but that couldn't be helped. _The man should be satisfied with Pentos._

Jon took a seat at the table. He noticed there was no _cyvasse_ board on the table like usual. The man offered him which Jon didn't refuse. A fine Myrish wine. "I pray the meetings were alright?" the man asked him,

Jon took a healthy glup from the glass. "As good as one could hope" He didn't want to talk about his plan to the old rag,

The prince nodded, understood that he didn't want to tell him more.

"I have heard some interesting news from those merchants you remember I told you about?" Tattered Prince questioned him with a faint smile.

Jon nodded. _What now, is he talking about those slaves of R'hllor?_

"Well those merchants told me that the Tigers inside the Black Walls have taken over Volantis and now Molaquo Maegyr is heading towards Pentos" The old rag informed him, Jon clenched his fist. If there was one man Jon desperately wanted to kill then it was that man. Molaquo Maegyr. 

Despite his anger Jon smiled, "It could not have been any better. You want Pentos and I want to finish all my enemies. It seems they all are in Pentos. Once I finish the deal with the Iron Banks, we shall strike the city" 

The Tattered Prince grinned. It was an unsettling smile. It was not his grin that said he was pleased. _Did I miss something?_

"Oh but you haven't heard my full, princeling. Those merchants also told me another tale" 

_What is it?_

What Tattered Prince said next made his heart skip a beat "The merchants has it that your uncle who raised you as his own son is now the official Hand of the King"

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was really rushed. I didn't have the time to properly even write the conversations. Damn it the AOT S4 is getting inside my head. I cannot even concentrate on any other thing.
> 
> The Windblowns are mercenary introduced in ADWD. The way Jon get into Windblowns is similar to how Quentyn Martell and his company got inside. 
> 
> So there's nearly one year time skip. The timeline is really fucked up here. It would be explained in next chapter I hope. I didn't know how to write the Iron Bank of Braavos. The theories of Iron Bank, the Valyrians and the faceless men are endless. I hope to write more about the Sealord of Braavos in future chapters.
> 
> So Neddy boy is the Hand of the King now. Ah the Game of Thrones begins.
> 
> Oh I nearly forgot about the battle. It was my first try and I couldn't find anything better. Warfare is really hard.
> 
> A hundred thanks to @Kellersab for giving me the idea of Jon's armour.
> 
> The title of this chapter 'Keep moving forward'. My homage to Eren fuckin Yeager.


	21. Chapter 21

Arya

Arya was breathing heavily. Catching a cat was difficult. She realised. It was a work given to her by the Braavosi trainer Syrio Forel. Her father had found a Braavosi water dancer for her to train swordplay but instead of teaching about the swords art her stupid teacher instructed her to capture a stupid cat. She had ran after the cat twice around the Tower of the Hand, across the inner bailey, through the stables, down the serpentine steps, past the small kitchen and the pig yard and the barracks of the gold cloaks, along the base of the river wall and up more steps and back and forth over Traitor’s Walk, and then down again and through a gate and around a well and in and out of strange buildings until Arya didn’t know where she was.

  
  


For a brief moment of time she was successful in capturing the tom cat until Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen arrived at the scene with their fat Septa and two red clocks. Thankfully they didn't recognize her and mistook her for a boy. Arya had run from them flying jumping atop the fat prince and through a narrow window. _Slippery as an eel_.

  
  


At the moment she was somewhere in a dark place. She didn't know which part of the Red Keep it was. She was not even sure if it was the Red Keep. The place was huge with endless mages. When they had first come to Kingslanding, she used to have terrible nightmares about getting misplaced in the hold keep. Father had told her the Red Keep was smaller than Winterfell, but in her dreams it was humongous, never ending stone maze with walls that appeared to switch and exchange after her. She would find herself wandering down dark halls past faded tapestries, descending endless circular stairs, winding through courtyards and over bridges, her shouts echoing no response. In some of the chambers the red stone walls would drip blood, and nowhere could she find a window or door to escape. Sometimes she would hear her father’s bulky voice, always from a far away however, and try as she might to run no matter how hard after the voice, it would only grow fainter and fainter, until it faded to nothing and Arya was left alone in the dark. Like right now.

No, she was not alone though. There were monsters watching her with dead eyes through the gloom, and dimly she saw the jagged shadows of long teeth. Arya immediately closed her eyes. Afraid that if she might open, the monsters would devour her. Fearful that some might see her.

_Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine._ Arya recalled the lesson Syrio taught her. _Fear cuts deeper than the swords._ Her father's words. Summoning her inner courage she opened her eyes again. 

The heads were all around her. Curiosity got the best of her as she touched one, wondering if it was real. Her fingers brushed a massive jaw. It felt _real_ enough. The bone was smooth beneath her hand, cold and hard to the touch. She ran her fingers down a tooth, black and sharp, a dagger made of darkness. It made her shiver. As she once again looked at the eyes the same empty eyes stared at her as though she was not supposed to touch it. The monsters did not love her. She backed away from the skull only to fall into a second, larger than the first. In an instant she could feel its sharp teeth digging into her shoulder, as if it wanted a bite of her flesh. Arya whirled, _smooth as summer silk_ , felt her breath caught in her throat and suffocated for a moment as a huge fang nipped at her jerkin, and then she was running. _Swift as a deer._ Another skull loomed ahead, the biggest monster of them all, but Arya did not even slow. She leapt over a ridge of black teeth as tall as swords, dashed through hungry jaws, and threw herself against the door.

If the room with the monsters had been dark, the hall was the blackest pit in the seven hells. _A water dancer sees with all her senses._ Syrio had told her. Arya tried her best to settle in the dark room. It was so dark that she could neither go front nor back, so she had to comfort there. She hoped she would see some light or hear someone to lead her but for what seemed like hours nothing happened and Arya was left brooding alone.

She leaned against the wall, feeling her sore muscles. Her legs were aching terribly. Syrio was an unforgiving man. He'd commanded her to stay on her toes for hours. It was tiresome but Arya would never back down. It was after all what she wanted, not that she had anything to do elsewise. No one talked to Arya. No one but her father and the flamboyant Braavosi teacher. She didn’t care though and truth be told Arya liked it that way. Sometimes people did talk to her, when Father had to dine with the king or some lord or the envoys from this place or that place. The rest of the time, they ate in his solar, just him and her and Sansa.

  
  


Arya longed for her home Winterfell badly. She missed her mother. She missed Robb and baby Rickon. She missed Bran. The whole family cried when they found out about Bran. She cursed him for being careless and prayed to the Old Gods for his recovery. She was so heartbroken when father told her Bran may never be able to walk again. It was so unfair. Her little brother wanted to be a knight. A Kingsguard like See Barristan Selmy. She missed him. Arya so very much wanted to tease Bran and play with baby Rickon and have Robb smile at her. She even missed Theon and Hodor and Ser Rodrick. But most of all she missed _Jon_ . She wanted Jon to muss up her hair and call her _little sister_ and finish her sentences with her. It felt forever last she'd seen him. He said he would go to Dorne to pay his respect to his deceased grandfather. Arya had watched as he went through the gates of Winterfell with Ser Arthur. It has been over a year and a half now. Surely he wouldn't stay that long or would he? For most part Arya had blamed her father. People whispered that her father had berated Jon one evening and the next day he vanished from Winterfell never to return. In her heart Arya didn't believe that. He would never be so petty as to leave them forever if their father scolded him. Jon had gifted her _Needle_ before departing. Arya knew he'd already planned to leave even before her father had said anything to Jon. Even in his letter he sounded so happy that even Arya was envious of him but after that one letter there was nothing. No more ravens. Nothing. She would go to rookery time and again to look if he'd sent them any more ravens. She had asked Maester Luwin countless times if there was any news about Jon but every time the answer was always the same. She wondered when he would return. Mayhaps he sent them a letter in Winterfell now that she's here in King's Landing. The next time she would ask Robb of that, after all he loved Jon equally even if her mother and Sansa ignored him.

Arya wondered how big Ghost must have been now? Thinking about Jon's direwolf made her sad. She missed her own direwolf. _Nymeria._ After the 'incident' with Prince Joffrey, the Queen had ordered her men to kill the direwolf. Jory had helped her escape Nymeria. Arya had yelled at her direwolf to run, to go be free, that she didn’t want her anymore but that all fell on deaf ears. At last with no other option, as Nymeria kept following, they had to throw rocks. Arya had hit her twice. Arya could clearly remember the she-wolf whined and looked at her and at that moment Arya had never felt more ashamed, but it was the right thing to do. She had convinced herself. The queen would have killed her otherwise. Better alive far away then dead.

  
  


Arya hated everything about this city. Joffrey, the King, the Queen, the Lannisters, the Hound, and everyone. She hated the sounds of their voices, their laughter, the stories they babble. Killing _Lady_ was not enough for them as it happened the Hound butchered the butcher boy Mycah. Jeyne Poole had informed Arya that Joffrey's sworn shield had cut the boy up in so many pieces that they’d given the body back to the butcher in a bag, and at first the poor man had thought it was a pig they’d slaughtered. And the disgusting part was that no one had raised a voice or drawn a blade or anything, not Harwin who always talked so bold, or Alyn who was going to be a knight, or Jory who was captain of the guard. Not even her father. She felt so remorseful upon learning the fate of the boy. It wasn't his fault at all. It was hers. No it was that stupid Joffrey's. His and Sansa's. They had to venture to the same place where Arya and Mycah were practising swordplay.

_Syrio says that every pain is a lesson, and every lesson makes you better_ . _What about the pain when no one around you understands you?_ He never told her about that and Arya never asked him. Father always told her, she had _wolfsblood_ in her. People often say that about Jon as well. Maybe that was the reason she missed him the most. Arya so very much wanted to leave this place. This gloomy hall. The Red Keep and Kings Landing. She fantasize about finding Nymeria in the wild woods below the Trident, and together they’d return to Winterfell, or run to Jon wherever he was. 

  
  


She found herself wishing that Jon was here with her now. Then maybe she wouldn’t feel so alone. The only sound was the beating of her own heart and a distant drip of water. _Quiet as a shadow_.

  
  


But not for long. 

  
  


Arya heard the sound of footsteps echoing off in the distance. The sound gave away Arya where to move in the dark. Listening closely to the sound she crawled towards it. Flames licked at the cold air. Arya could make out the tall shadows lingering on the walls. The shadows were almost on top of her. 

  
  


"Do you take me for a wizard?” A voice chuckled. Arya felt a shiver down her spine when she heard it. As she tilted her head, Arya vaguely saw a man holding a torch. The man was covered in a hood like a blanket. 

  
  
  


“No less.” Another voice said. This voice sounded like a foreign accent. Like someone of Braavos or that of Myr.

  
  
  


“What would you have me do?” The torchbearer questioned as he began to climb some steps.

  
  


A moment later the man carrying the torch climbed into her view, his companion beside him.

  
  


Arya pressed herself against the wall. She covered her mouth with her hand to suppress her breath. She held her breath as the men reached the top of the steps. 

As she looked at the man holding a torch she could see the man's features. He looked like a stout man in a leather half cape. A round scarred face under the hood and a stubble of dark beard showed under his steel cap, and he wore mail over boiled leather, and a dirk and shortsword at his belt. It seemed to Arya there was something oddly familiar about him.

  
  
  


“If one Hand can die, why not a second?” 

A forked yellow beard man asked. It was the same man with a strange accent. He was no one Arya had ever seen before, she was certain of it. Unhealthy fat, yet he seemed to walk lightly, carrying his weight on the balls of his feet as a water dancer would. 

  
  


“You have danced the dance before, my friend.” the torchbearer said playfully, the voice didn't match his appearance at all, “Before is not now, and this Hand is not the other,”

  
  


“Perhaps so,” The forkbeard said. His rings glimmered in the torchlight, red-gold and pale silver, crusted with rubies, sapphires, slitted yellow tiger eyes. Every finger wore a ring; some had two. The man looked rich. Ravishingly rich. “Nevertheless, we are running out of time. The princess is flowered but the Dayne girl wraps her like a cow does to its cattle. The situation is dire. The Queen listens to none but the Volantine. I am failing to sway her. The prince is a fool and I can not delay the Khal much longer. The urgency to have a son. The stallion who mounts the world in their word. You know how they are, these savages.”

_Princess, Dayne girl, Queen, Khal? Just what in the old gods are they talking about?_ Arya pointed her ear forward to pay more attention.

The other man also listened closely. For a moment no one spoke. Silence filled the air until the scarred man said as they stepped out into the hall. “This is no longer a game for two players, if ever it was. Stannis Baratheon and Lysa Arryn have fled beyond my reach, and the whispers say they are gathering swords around them. The Knight of Flowers writes Highgarden, proposing his lord father to dispatch his sister to suit. The girl is a maid of fourteen, sweet and beautiful and tractable, Rose of Highgarden they call her, and Lord Renly and Ser Loras intend that Robert should bed her, wed her, and make a new queen. Littlefinger. . . the gods only know what game the mockingbird is setting. Nonetheless Lord Stark’s the one who troubles my sleep. He has the bastard, he has the book, and soon enough he’ll have the truth. And now his wife has abducted Tyrion Lannister, thanks to Littlefinger’s meddling. The old lion of the rock will sure to take that for an insult, and Jaime also has a strange affection for the Imp. The Lions and the Wolfs would be at each other's throat soon. When the Lannisters move north, that will bring the Tullys in as well. Delay, you say. Make haste, I reply. Even the finest of jugglers cannot keep a hundred balls in the air forever" 

It was only after the torchbearer said Lord Stark she realised they were talking about her father, the Hand of the King. Her breath caught in her throat. _If one Hand can die, why not a second_ ? They were talking about her father. Are they planning to kill him? _Still as stone_ , Arya desperately reminded herself. _They must not find out that I am here._

  
  


“Be that as it may but you, my old friend, are more than a juggler. You are a true sorcerer if there ever was one. All I ask is that you work your magic awhile longer.” The foreign accent man said. Blinded by the blaze of their own torch, they did not see her pressed flat against the stone, only a few feet away. 

  
  
  


“What I can do, I will,” the one with the torch said softly. “I must have gold, and another fifty birds.” She let them get a long way ahead, then went creeping after them. _Quiet as a shadow_. "But still they are not enough"

They moved down the hall in the direction Arya had come, past the room with the monsters. 

"What about this new player?" The forked beard asked, "The one with a dragon"

_Dragon?_ What player and what dragon were they talking about?

  
  


"Just recently I have heard about Myr and Tyrosh" the man giggled strangely, like a girl "my my the boy is certainly making things interesting I must say"

The other one sounded irritated. It appeared to Arya he did like whoever this dragon boy was, "This is no time for jape. The boy is the biggest hurdle for _our_ player best remember that"

"Oh for sure, I know dear old friend. That's why I changed his course of path"

  
  


"Whatever is that supposed to mean?" The rich man asked, his gold and amethyst shining in the dark.

"Just know this after what befallen on Myr and Tyrosh, Pentos was next" The round scarred faced man said in a serious tone. 

This paused the other man. There was deathly peace in the air. 

"But you need not to worry about the boy for now I have certain plans for him. You, on the other hand, made a foolish mistake coming here. You left the Targaryens in the hands of Maegyrs. I ask you what madness made you do so?" the stout man in the steel cap questioned in a whisper. There was a dangerous aura behind those words. It terrified Arya.

  
  
  


"I have my men there. Rest assured nothing catastrophic will happen. I needed to come here. To tell you everything. I am afraid your little birds and their magic are of little use in Pentos. They are being hunted even as we speak" The fat man replied.

  
  


"More the reason for you to stay there then. It is true my little birds in Pentos are disappearing day by day. I hold no doubt who is responsible for this. I want you to return to Pentos as fast as you can" The hooded man stated in such a strong voice that there was no room left for argument.

  
  


"Very well then old friend whatever you say. We have come so far together I doubt not you will succeed whatever you are thinking. I shall take my leave" the forked beard replied, pausing to catch his breath after the long climb. The man with the torch pushed at something. Arya heard a deep rumbling. A huge slab of rock, red in the torchlight, slid down out of the ceiling with a resounding crash that almost made her cry out. Where the entry to the well had been was nothing but stone, solid and unbroken.

Even in heavy boots, the hooded man's feet seemed to glide soundlessly over the ground.

“So many of my little birds?” The voices were fainter as the light dwindled ahead of her. “The ones lost to me are hard to find… so young, to find. . . not die so easily. . .if they kept their tongues. . . . the risk.” Until the room was empty. Again absence filled the room but this time Arya knew which way to move. 

  
  


Her heart was pounding hard. Arya knew whatever she heard today she was not supposed to. The thought frightened her. The men were talking about her father and how he found the bastard. _Could it be Jon was found?_ She must inform father about everything. They were also talking about some Princess. _Was that Myrcella? Who is this Khal?_ If she remembered her lessons correctly the Khals were like a King in Dothraki. _Dayne girl? Jon's mother is also Ashara Dayne. Are there any other Daynes?_ Her head was heavy now. 

Arya crawled out of the dark room, ran past the room full of monsters and through corridors and over the steps. She was barefoot and dirty, her hair tangled from the long run through the castle, clad in a jerkin ripped by cat claws and brown roughspun pants hacked off above her scabby knees. _You don’t wear skirts and silks when you’re catching cats_. 

  
  


Quickly she lowered her head and dropped to one knee. Maybe the guards wouldn’t recognize her like Princess Myrcella and Prince failed to but If they did, she would never hear the end of it. Septa Mordane would be mortified, and Sansa would never speak to her again from the shame. 

  
  


Hours after fleeing Arya found herself standing at the mouth of a sewer where it consumed into the river. She smelled so foul that she had to strip herself of her jerkin, dropping her soiled clothing on the riverbank as she dove into the deep black waters. She swam until she felt clean, and crawled out shivering. Some riders went past along the river road as Arya was washing her clothes, but fortunately they didn't bother looking at a scrawny naked girl scrubbing her rags in the moonlight.

  
  


After cleaning herself Arya realised she was miles from the castle, but from anywhere in King’s Landing one needed only to look up to see the Red Keep high on Aegon’s Hill, so there was no danger of losing her way. Her clothes were almost dry by the time she reached the gatehouse. The portcullis was down and the gates barred, so she turned aside to a postern door.

The gold cloaks who had the watch sneered at her when she told them to let her in. “Off with you,” one said. “The kitchen scraps are gone, and we’ll have no begging after dark.”

When she told them she was not a beggar but daughter of the Hand of the King and she wanted to see her father, the gold cloaks laughed at her and one of the gold cloak even jested that he wanted to fuck the Queen. It was only after she told the names of the Winterfell household that her father brought they obliged. Soon Harwin and Fat Tom took her in her father's chamber.

  
  
  
  


Eddard Stark

  
  


Ned Stark loathed Kingslanding. Everything about it. Ever since Jon had left Winterfell he hardly smiled and that only got worse since arriving in the Red Keep. The place was truly a viper's nest. Foremost Jon left Winterfell with Arthur which troubling in itself, after that the news of Jon Arryn, his fostered father's demise and then the letter of Lysa Arryn, his sister-in-law, about the Lannisters' supposed 'scheme' regarding the deaths of Jon Arryn then the unfortunate incident of his son Bran. All these troubles and he left for Kingslanding only to invite more troubles. The Red Keep and the “Hand’s tourney” tired Ned raw. He hated the damn tourney in his honour. And then there was this recent incident with Arya. In accordance with her, she lost herself chasing after a cat and heard people talking about killing him. Ned knew it was nothing new here in Kingslanding but his daughters needed not to hear all that. He had to calm his nine year old daughter for nearly half an hour before sending to her room. Truly the Red Keep was worse than a battlefield.

Ned sighed and pushed himself from his chair. He yearned for the comfort of Catelyn’s arms, for the sounds of Robb and Jon crossing swords in the practice yard, for the cool days and cold nights of the north. He yearned to be with his son in his hardest time but alas that was not possible. The realm and Robert needed him more than Bran right now. He'd thought once he finished all the troubles here he would return to his home but how wrong he was. 

His lady wife even before him had already arrived at Kings Landing hiding in Littlefinger's _establishments_ bearing the ill news that no sooner he left Winterfell a balde was sent to open Bran's throat and spill his blood. Someone prepared to murder his son. His son. Damn them. Why would anyone want to harm a crippled seven year old boy? 

Ned thanked the old gods a hundred times when he heard his son and his wife were saved by the direwolf. Bran’s wolf had saved the boy’s life, he thought dully. What was it that Jon had said when they found the pups in the snow _? Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord._ And he had killed Sansa’s wolf, and for what? 

"Choose four men and have them take the body north. Bury her at Winterfell.” He'd ordered Jory. Was it guilt he was feeling? Or fear? If the gods had sent these wolves, what folly had he done? Suppressing his inner guilt Ned had ordered his lady wife to return Winterfell and look after Bran. He'd assured her he would handle everything but he was not sure himself.

He asked his wife to send word to Helman Tallhart and Galbart Glover under his seal. 

"They are to raise a hundred bowmen each and fortify Moat Cailin. Two hundred determined archers can hold the Neck against an army. Instruct Lord Manderly that he is to strengthen and repair all his defenses at White Harbor, and see that they are well manned. And from this day on, I want a careful watch kept over Theon Greyjoy. If there is war, we shall have sore needs of his father’s fleet" He'd told as much. His lady wife was terrified if that came into conclusion but Ned was hopeful the situation would not deter that bad and even if it did then Ned would be prepared to face the consequences. Robert and the Lannisters be damned. Whoever attacked his son would pay. For some strange reason he felt as though the suspicious death of Jon Arryn and Bran were related.

The Grandmaester Pycell said otherwise,

"We had sat together on council many a year, he and I, and the signs were there to read, but I put them down to the great burdens he had borne so faithfully for so long. Those broad shoulders were weighed down by all the cares of the realm, and more besides. His son was ever sickly, and his lady wife so anxious that she would scarcely let the boy out of her sight. It was enough to weary even a strong man, and the Lord Jon was not young. Small wonder if he seemed melancholy and tired. Or so I thought at the time. Yet now I am less certain.”

When he asked the Grand Maester about Jon's illness the response he got was, “He came to me one day looking for a certain book, as hale and healthy as ever, though it did occur to me that something was troubling him deeply. The next morning he was twisted over in pain, too sick to rise from bed. Maester Colemon thought it was a chill on the stomach. The weather had been hot, and the Hand often iced his wine, which can upset the digestion. When Lord Jon continued to weaken, I went to him myself, but the gods did not grant me the power to save him.”

  
  


Pycelle had told Ned that in the final stage of Jon's fever, the Hand called out the name Robert several times, but whether he was asking for his son or for the king the Grand Maester could not say. Lysa had not permitted her boy to enter the sickroom, for fear that he too might be taken ill. Ned could not fault her for that but as per Pycelle Robert did come, and he'd sat beside the bed for hours, talking and joking of times long past in hopes of raising Jon’s spirits. 

"His love was fierce to see.” Grand Maester had informed him. It was so very much like Robert.

  
  


However the thing that had bothered Ned was _The seed is strong_. The final words Jon whispered to Robert and Lysa. The Grand Maester thought it was a blessing to his son but for some reason he didn't believe it. Pycelle was quite certain that Jon Arryn died of a sudden illness. The old didn't even think of poison. 

But Littlefinger didn't agree so much. 

Ned didn't know what to make of Petyr Baelish. On one hand he looked friendly and genuine but on the other hand there was something about the man that left Ned unsettled.

"I promised Cat I would help you in your inquiries, and so I have.” The sly man had told Ned and loath as Ned was to admit but the man did help him.

When Ned informed the man that Lysa Arryn held her silence behind the high walls of the Eyrie taking all of her household back to Vale, Littlefinger had named Jon's squire was still in Kings Landing participating in the tourney "Ser Hugh of the Vale,", in accordance to Littlefinger the king had knighted the boy after Lord Arryn’s death.

  
  


Unfortunately before Ned could even interrogate the boy he was viciously slayed in the tourney and that only raised Ned suspicions. The walls of Red Keep have ears they said and Ned was slowly coming to understand that.

  
  


From Pycelle he got _The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms_ , _With Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children,_ by Grand Maester Malleon, the book Jon was reading before his death. The other person besides Jon who was involved in all this was the King's younger brother _Stannis Baratheon_. No sooner had Jon died, Stannis had left for Dragonstone and he didn't even come to attend the council meeting nor did he reply to the invitation Ned sent.

From Jory through a guardsmen he gathered where Jon Arryn and Stannis had visited. It was a blacksmith's shop. Tobho Mott. He'd claimed to master the skill to forge a Valyrian sword in Qohor and had boasted the Knight of Flowers bought his armour from him but Ned didn't care about that. He bluntly asked what business the previous Hand of the King and Lord Stannis had in his shop. The craftsman had told him they were there to see a boy. 

When Ned had a good look at the boy he understood why Jon and Stannis requested to see. Thick black hair, the shape of his jaw, those eyes like blue ice. Everything about the boy screamed Robert. The boy looked exactly like young Robert back in his days in Eyrie. Gendry. The boy was undoubtedly Robert's bastard.

The dagger, Bran’s fall, the bastard boy all of it was linked somehow to the murder of Jon Arryn, he could feel it in his gut, but the truth of Jon’s death remained as mystery to him as when he had initiated. The squire was dead, and Jory was still searching the whorehouses where other Robert's bastards were whelped. What did he have but Robert’s bastard?

  
  


_The tears of Lys_. A rare and costly thing, clear and sweet as water, and it leaves no trace. The poison used to murder Jon Arryn. Or so Varys claimed when Ned asked. Out of all the people in King's Landing the eunuch was the most mysterious. Even his wife swore that the man uses sorcery.

Varys confessed Ser Hugh was the one who poisoned Jon. If only he could prove that the Lannisters were behind the attack on Bran, and prove that they had murdered Jon Arryn using poison, Robert would listen and deliver the justice. Ned knew that. Then Cersei would fall, and the Kingslayer with her, and if Lord Tywin dared to rouse the west, Robert would smash him as he had smashed Rhaegar Targaryen on the Trident. He could see it all so clearly. 

Robert was still the same wild man he was fifteen years ago. Back in that King's pavilion a few weeks ago where Robert was yearning to battle in melee before he and Ser Barristan stopped him proved as much. 

"Let me tell you a secret, Ned. More than once, I have dreamed of giving up the crown. Take ship for the Free Cities with my horse and my hammer, spend my time warring and whoring, that’s what I was made for. The sellsword king, how the singers would love me. You know what stops me? The thought of Joffrey on the throne, with Cersei standing behind him whispering in his ear. My son. How could I have made a son like that, Ned?” He had felt the pain in Robert's voice. 

  
  


Robert was still the same man he'd met all those years ago. Although the Crown changed him but he was still the same Robert. _He loved Jon Arryn fiercely and hates any man who uses poison as a weapon_ . _If only I could prove then only god knows what Robert would do to avenge Jon._ A part of his head whispered what if he found out about Jon. _You are running to find out the death of Jon Arryn but what if Robert discovers about your Jon, huh?_ Just the thinking about that made Ned shiver. He didn't even know where Jon was. The others take Arthur Dayne for spilling the beans. 

_That man couldn't shut his mouth. Was the crown that important to him that he drove a fourteen year old boy out of his home?_ Ned knew how impulsive and untamed his son could be. _Not son, nephew._ Ned could only pray for his safety wherever he was and never show up. He found himself at fault that day when Jon confronted him.

_You are either with me or against me, my dear father._ The words Jon had spoken.

_It's either me or him, Lord Stark. Curse yourself with kinslaying and be done with me or help me._

_You want me to stifle behind as your bastard. The only stain in your precious honour. You want me to be a Snow when I have my own name?_ To this day Ned couldn't reply to that.

Ned gritted his teeth in frustration and walked out of his chamber. It was time to attend the small council meeting. The king's steward told him that Grand Maester Pycelle had convened an urgent meeting of the small council. The honor of the Hand’s presence was requested as soon as it was convenient. The steward boy also told King Robert would attend. In normal circumstances Ned would be happy the King attended but this was different. Ever since he'd arrived at Kings Landing Robert had never showed up at the small council. If he's coming today then it must be of grave importance. His heart was pounding heavy.

Robert was a good man but not a good king. The very fact that Aerys Targaryen left a treasury flowing with gold only for Robert to beggar the realm was proof enough. He was beyond shocked when Lord Petyr Baelish informed him the Crown was more than eight million gold pieces in debt. 

"The Lannisters are the biggest part of it, but we have also borrowed from Lord Tyrell, the Iron Bank of Braavos, and several Tyroshi trading cartels. Of late I’ve had to turn to the Faith. The High Septon haggles worse than a Dornish fishmonger.” Littlefinger had confessed to him back in his first council meeting.

The Lannisters. Damn them. The influence they had over the crown was tremendous. And to top all that Robert had named Jaime Lannister, _the Kingslayer,_ of all people as his Warden of East. With that decree Robert had all but placed half the armies of the realm into the hands of Lannisters.

“For the last damn time Ned, I will not name the Arryn boy Warden. I know the boy is your nephew, but with Targaryens still lurking in the east, I would be mad to rest one quarter of the realm on the shoulders of a sickly child.” Robert had yelled back in Barrowlands when the news of Targaryens whereabouts reached their ears through the traitor Jorah Mormont.

"Yet we still must have a Warden of the East. If Robert Arryn will not do so, name one of your brothers. Stannis proved himself at the siege of Storm’s End and in Greyjoy's Rebellion, surely.” Ned suggested as much. "That is,” Ned had finished quietly, watching, “unless you have already promised the honor to another.” For a moment Robert had the grace to look startled. Just as quickly, the look became annoying. “What if I have?” 

“It’s Jaime Lannister, is it not?” Robert hadn't denied back then, the rumors had been true. Ned had advised Robert that the Kingslayer's father was Warden of the West and in time Jaime Lannister would succeed to that honor. He'd pleaded no one man should hold both East and West but all that fell on deaf ears. Robert was stubborn. Frustratingly so. 

  
  


"Damn you Stark. Why do you not understand this? There are still those in the Seven Kingdoms who refer me as Usurper. Do you forget how many houses fought for those sister fuckers in the war? They bide their time for now, but give them half a chance, they will murder me in my bed, and my sons with me,

"And now some pox-ridden Pentoshi cheesemonger had the whore and her whelps walled up on his estate with pointy-hatted eunuchs all around them. I should have had them all killed years ago, when it was easy to get at them, but Jon was as bad as you. More fool I, I listened to him. I may not be a good king like the conciliator or a good father to my children but gods be cursed if I ever let a Targaryen lay their foot in my lands and take everything away from me and mine"

  
  


"And you trust the words of a traitor? The one who shamed his house and ran?" Ned had argued equally heated. Robert's reply was Varys had never failed him before.

“I will fight that battle, Ned, when the enemy appears on the field,” the king had said stubbornly. “At the moment, Lord Tywin is my goodfather and looms eternal as Casterly Rock, so I doubt that Jaime will be succeeding anytime soon. Say what you want about Kingslayer but he got balls to do something not many could. He has done everything I have ever asked of him. His sword helped win the throne I sit on"

Ned had argued Jaime swore a vow to protect his king’s life with his own and then he opened that king’s throat with a sword. Robert was unmoved however.

  
  
  


As if the Crown was not in debt enough already Robert had announced forty thousand golden dragons to the champion of jousts. Twenty thousand to the man who comes second, another twenty to the winner of the melee, and ten thousand to the victor of the archery competition.

And to open more wounds Robert held a prodigious feast every evening during the entire tourney. Cooks, carpenters, serving girls, singers, jugglers, fools all gathered to entertain the lords and ladies and knights from all over the realm.

  
  


As he walked past Maegor's Holdfast, towards the step of the serpent's stairs he gazed at ever looming Visenya’s hill crowned by the Great Sept of Baelor with its seven crystal towers. Across the other side of the city on the hill of Rhaenys stood the blackened walls of the Dragonpit, its huge dome collapsing into ruin, its bronze doors closed now for a century. The Street of the Sisters ran between them, straight as an arrow. The city walls rose in the distance, high and strong. 

  
  


The city was truly the city of Dragons yet the banners that flew from its battlements across all over the red walls of the Red Keep were golden, not black, and where the three-headed dragon had once breathed fire, now pranced the crowned stag of House Baratheon. 

  
  


As he reached the destination he saw two Kingsguard guarding the door. Ser Boros and Ser Meryn of the Kingsguard.

  
  


"They are the queen’s creatures to the bone" Varys had told him and Ned didn't doubt this.

  
  


As he went inside, the chamber was richly furnished. Myrish carpets covered the floor instead of rushes, and in one corner a hundred fabulous beasts cavorted in bright paints on a carved screen from the Summer Isles. The walls were hung with tapestries from Norvos and Qohor and Lys, and a pair of Valyrian sphinxes flanked the door, eyes of polished garnet smoldering in black marble faces.

The king’s seat was not empty as usual at the head of the table, but instead Robert covered the crowned stag of Baratheon embroidered in gold thread on its pillows. The crown over head. Beard as coarse and black as iron wire covered his jaw to hide his double chin and the sag of the royal jowls, but nothing could hide his stomach or the dark circles under his eyes. He'd gained tons of weight over the years. Ever more so than previously in Greyjoy Rebellion. He looked as obese as Wyman Manderly. A big flagon of wine across the table in front of him and a glass in his head. 

He turned to the other side and saw Renly. The King's youngest brother had been a boy of seven when Robert won the throne, but now he was the Master of laws. Renly had grown into a man so like his brother that Ned found it disconcerting. Whenever he saw him, it was as if the years had slipped away and Robert stood before him, fresh from his victory on the Trident. Showered with jewels and perfume.

Littlefinger, the Master of Coins, was sitting near Renly. He smirked a little when Ned saw him. Those sharp green eyes were keenly observing him.

To the other sit, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard wearing the white cloak was seated. See Barristan Selmy in the intricate suit of white enameled scales, the fastenings for breastplate and other pieces made of silver. Looking at him reminded Ned of that day when he battled Ser Arthur Dayne in his silver armour. The day he nearly died if not for his sister. _Promise me, Ned._ He remembered those words. _I failed, Lya._

Ned took the seat opposite of the king across the table. Varys with his perfumed velvet silks and effeminate face was the one seated near him. The Master of whispers.

Ned looked around and saw everyone was present in the council except Stannis. He was the last member to show up. Even old Pycelle was present who usually was last to attend. The Grand Maester smiled gently from his chair. His maester’s collar was no simple metal choker such as Luwin wore, but two dozen heavy chains wound together into a ponderous metal necklace that covered him from throat to breast. The links were forged of every metal known to man: black iron and red gold, bright copper and dull lead, steel and tin and pale silver, brass and bronze and platinum. Garnets and amethysts and black pearls adorned the metalwork, and here and there an emerald or ruby.

  
  


"Take a seat quickly Ned we got matters to discuss" the King started impatiently.

"Show him Varys" Robert commanded the spider. The eunuch bowed his head and took out a paper from his sleeve. His hand left powder stains on the paper and it smelled as foul and sweet as flowers on a grave. So much like the spider.

  
  


Varys the eunuch was the king’s master of whisperers. He served Robert now as he had once served Aerys Targaryen. Ned unrolled the paper with apprehension, thinking of Lysa and her terrible accusation or worse Jon and Arthur, but the message did not concern Lady Arryn or Arthur, “What is the source for this information?”

  
  


The parchment gathered about the annihilation of free cities Myr and Tyrosh. It was terrible news but Ned could not understand why it concerned Robert. Wars were not uncommon in those free cities. Mercenaries and sellswords often fought battles there. Although he knew some of the crown debts were towards Tyroshi cartels.

"Source is of reliable party my lord I assure you of that" the eunuch responded.

"I fail to understand the importance of this news" Ned replied puzzled, "do the Tyroshi gold lenders need our help?"

"Fortunately for us they didn't survive my lord" Littlefinger quipped, rubbing his pointed beard on his chin.

"The priority of this piece of information, Lord Hand, is that Lord Varys' spies depicted that almost both of the cities were ignited on fire. All the fleets and residents everything. The enormity of this magnitude is very concerning" Lord Renly Baratheon revealed and that was true. Such heinousness needed to be punished but Ned knew very well they were in no position to mingle with the affairs of free cities. So why was Ned feeling terrible in his guts as if it was somewhat related to him.

"You have not completely heard the whispers so I understand your troubles my lord" Varys softly added. 

"Out with it, damn you. Tell the Hand everything" Robert suddenly grumbled. He was already purple faced.

"As you will, your grace. Lord Hand from various of my spies and little birds I have confirmed this news. The two cities were indeed set on fire but the news that concerns this council is how the cities were put on torch. The survival of this massacre claimed it was a red dragon falling from heavens that caused all the annihilation. More than one sailor swore it was a dragon and others claimed the sellswords responsible for this were Windblown and they brought a dragon"

Ned was perplexed hearing that. "and you believe all this?" He asked Robert but before the King could reply the spider again spoke,

"If it was just one person then we would have rubbed it as fanatics but more than dozen agreed the same" 

Ned shook his head. 

"Do you deny the red comet we saw months ago as well Lord Hand?" The damnable eunuch asked,

Ned paused for a second. The comet he'd seen back in Winterfell. Everybody had their own theory about that. Some predicted it was the warning of the forthcoming winter. Some took it as omen of the eternal summer. Hardly anybody claimed it as a dragon. Although a small part of his head whispered about what Arya had told him.

"A bit with a dragon they were talking about. The hooded man had said he made things interesting, the other one was not so happy" Arya had told her. Ned didn't know what to make of that but now he was having these doubts.

_Could it be…? No, I must be stretching things far ahead._ The Dragon Egg Rhaegar had that Jon now possessed would never hatch. If it could then why didn't Rhaegar had hatched it years ago? If he had then Westeros was already doomed already with Aerys on the throne. _No it's not possible. But the comet..._

"The peasants at Street of Steel and Flea Bottom believe it to be God's blessings to Prince Joffrey in his eleventh nameday" Renly jested which earned a glare from Robert.

"Are you saying there's a dragon in this world insisted by some war traumatized people and we should be bothered over it?" Ned again disclosed.

  
  


"Lord Hand raised a good point, your grace" the feeble Grand Maester muttered weakly. Wispy strands of white hair fringed the broad bald dome of his forehead above his delicate face. "the war fatigue people are never in their right sense of mind. Upon witnessing such barbarism by those sellswords they may have envisioned seeing a dragon" Ned was quite grateful the Grand Maester came to his aid but he didn't doubt for a second why the man did so. Pycelle despises Varys.

  
  


"Again I ask, do you deny the red comet Lord Hand?" Varys asked softly, wringing powdered hands together.

"What of it Lord Varys? Speak your mind" Ned expressed, annoyed by the eunuch.

"The followers of R'hllor all over the free cities are whispering about the birth of a dragon. The informers have it that an _imposter_ stole a dragon from the R'hllor priests in the Red Temple of Volantis and killed two of their high priests" Varys sang in his sweet honey tone. 

Ned again looked at Robert and gave a look that said do you even believe all this. 

"No any certain name of this imposter was revealed however the name _Targaryen_ was more than on a few occasions cited" the Spider divulged pulling a grimace across his face. Ned had to calm his nerves.

_So this was why it mattered to Robert. The name Targaryen brings madness inside him._

Ned cursed the spider silently. _Why? Damn him. Why did he have to bring all this?_ As it were not enough predicament already. 

"Baseless rumors spread by the zealots of alien god, I say all this" Ned denied in a cold voice, "besides whatever happens across the narrow sea is no concern of ours. We have more than enough on our table already to worry. We need not blend with the foreign affairs…."

"The whore and her inbreds are gathering the swords" King Robert complained, "those mercenaries are led by a Pentoshi working for the Targaryens. The sisterfuckers are hiding in Pentos, Ned"

"You believe the words of a slaver?" asked Ned, slightly angered that scum like Jorah Mormont had influence in the council meeting.

"Ser Jorah would not dare deceive me,” Varys said with a sly smile, "Rely on it, my lord. The dragon queen is in Pentos”

  
  


"I want all the dragonspawn and the dragon bitch killed" Robert announced, taking a swig, "I have waited enough now they are gathering their swords. I can not let them do as they please"

"Robert listen to me. You are a better man than this. Rhaella and her children have already paid the price of Aerys and Rhaegar's crimes. Let them be. It's unspeakable to even think about murdering a helpless foe" Ned pleaded with Robert. The councilors were doing their best to ignore the talk.

"Unspeakable? Unspeakable?" Robert roared, "What Aerys did to your brother Brandon was unspeakable. The way your lord father died, that was unspeakable. And Rhaegar. . . how many times do you think he raped your _sister_ ? How many hundreds of times?" _No he didn't rape my sister._ Ned wanted to shout but he held himself. _You only saw her beauty Robert but not the iron underneath._ Ned thought to himself. 

_Are you happy now Lya? Fourteen years have passed but still men and women are dying because of yours and Rhaegar's mistake. Your selfish choice is the cause of all this._ For a long time Ned hated Lyanna for this but now he couldn't. Maybe because he was a father now. The very thought of selling Arya against her will disturbed him.

"How can you even confirm those swords were hired by Rhaella?" Ned questioned Robert instead of answering.

"She's a whore. A dragon whore. She was capable enough to open her legs for brother. Small wonder she would do the same to all those magisters of free cities all these years to hire sellswords. I am surprised she has not spawn another inbred or did she?" 

Ned was disgusted hearing that.

"And pray tell me who informed you about that. Ser Mormont? Or some little birds? "

Robert didn't answer that instead he took a swallow of wine and glowered at Ned across the council table. “So you would counsel me to do nothing until the dragon spawns has landed his army on my shores, is that it?”

Ned blankly stared at Robert choosing not to reply.

"Seven hells, you are stubborn as an aurochs, Stark.” The king looked around the council table. “Have the rest of you mislaid your tongues? Will no one talk sense to this frozen-faced fool?”

  
  
  


Grand Maester Pycelle quickly cleared his throat and said “My order serves the realm, not the ruler. Once I counseled King Aerys as loyally as I counsel King Robert now, so I bear Queen Rhaella no ill will. I knew her better than anyone here. Truth be told I was the one who delivered Prince Viserys. Yet I ask you this, Lord Hand, if it ever comes to war again, gods forbid, how many soldiers will die? How many towns will burn? How many children will be ripped from their mothers to perish on the end of a spear?” He stroked his luxuriant white beard, infinitely sad, infinitely weary. “Is it not wiser, even merciful, that Rhaella Targaryen and her children should die now so that tens of thousands might live?”

  
  


Ned couldn't reply to that. This was the same thing he told Jon when his nephew asked him to vouch him for the Iron throne. 

_I will not help you start a war, Jon. Countless deaths need not to be wasted again._

  
  


Lord Renly shrugged. “The matter seems plausible enough to me. We ought to have had Rhaella, Viserys and his sister killed years ago, but His Grace my brother made the mistake of listening to Jon Arryn.” Ned narrowed his eyes hearing that.

_This boy Renly, he was probably five namedays old no more than that, peeing on his breeches, when we fought at Trident and I lifted the siege and now he has the nerve to say what we should have done years ago. Tarnishing the name of Jon Arryn and mocking his own brother Stannis Baratheon at every council meeting._

"Mercy is never a mistake, Lord Renly,” Ned replied coldly. “On the Trident when you were but only a toddler, Ser Barristan here cut down a dozen good men, Robert’s friends and mine. When they brought him to us, grievously wounded and near death, Roose Bolton urged us to cut his throat, but your brother had said, ‘I will not kill a man for loyalty, nor for fighting well,’ and sent his own maester to tend Ser Barristan’s wounds.” He gave the king a long cool look. “Would that man be here today.” 

Hearing that Robert had the grace to look flushed and Renly embarrassed.

Ser Barristan Selmy at last raised his pale blue eyes from the table and said, “Your Grace, there is honor in facing an enemy on the battlefield, but none in killing him in his mother and her children. Forgive me, but I must stand with Lord Eddard.”

  
  
  


Littlefinger was the last. As Ned looked to him, Lord Petyr stifled a yawn. “When you find yourself in bed with an ugly woman, the best thing to do is close your eyes and get on with it,” he declared. “Waiting won’t make the maid any prettier. Kiss her and be done with it.”

"Kiss of death with the lips of steel" Robert voiced, agreeing with Petyr Baelish. He reached for the flagon of wine and poured him some more.

  
  
  


Truth be told the Targaryens have brought enough misery to Ned in his life. He lost his father, his elder brother, his sister, his friends and the woman he once loved. Any man would have agreed to put an end to them but Ned was not any man. It was not only because they were Jon's family he disagreed with the council but it was also because the act was dishonourable in his eyes. He could not oblige with the murder of innocence who have done him no harm.

Ned abruptly stood from his chair. "I will have no part in this iniquity"

Hearing him Robert also rose from his chair and shouted, "I will kill every Targaryen I can get my hands on, until they are as dead as their dragons, and then I shall piss on their graves"

Ned knew better than to defy him when the wrath was upon Robert. If the years had not quenched his thirst for revenge, no words of his would help.

"Do it yourself then. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. Look at them in the eyes before you kill them. Rhaella, Viserys and the fourteen year old princess. See their tears, hear their last words. You owe them that much at least, or are you a craven to hire sellswords? Faceless men maybe? I have heard they are expensive. Might be the Master of Coins here will find you more loans"

  
  


Ned knew he was crossing his line here. Robert was no longer his friend only but he was also the monarch. He shouldn't argue with his King like this but Ned had enough of all this squabbling. He didn't come all the way from his home leaving his family to listen to Robert's crap.

"Careful Ned, you are speaking to your King" Robert warned, gripping the wine's glass tight. 

  
  


“Forgive my insolence your grace but I will not be a part of murder. Do as you will, but do not ask me to fix my seal to it"

  
  


"You will do as I say, Stark. You are my Hand" Robert spat gritting his teeth.

Ned unfastened the heavy clasp that clutched at the folds of his cloak, the ornate silver hand that was his badge of office. He laid it on the table in front of the king and hurled it across the table towards Robert, saddened by the memory of the man who had pinned it on him, the friend he had loved. "You are free to find another"

That was the last stroke before Robert exploded. He threw the empty glass of wine at his face, which Ned scantily dodged, and started cursing. The entire council chamber was quiet except Robert.

"Robert, I thought of you a better man than this. I had believed you were a nobler king.” Ned said, a sadness underlying his tone about to leave the chamber.

"Nobler King? Yes I will show you how noble I am. Lord Stark where do you think you are going?" Ned stopped suddenly and looked at the King. Robert's eyes were narrowed and a flush crept up his neck past the velvet collar. "You will answer for the crimes your lady wife committed"

  
  


Ned's heart skipped a bit. _Cat?_ What have she done?

"What crimes are you talking about, your grace?" Ned asked with a dangerous tone.

Robert looked at Varys. The spider nodded his head and took out another parchment from his sleeves and handed it to him. Ned quickly unfolded the seal. He had only ordered his wife to fortify Moat Cailin and look after Theon Greyjoy. What have she done?

The letter said his lady wife had captured Tyrion Lannister, the _Imp_ , at Crossroads Inn with the help of minor knights from House Whent, Bracken and Frey.

Ned sighed. This was the thing he feared the most. He already suspected Lannisters over Jon Arryn's murder and now his wife had pulled the tail of a lion. Although small lion the imp maybe Ned was sure Lord Tywin Lannister would not let this slight go easy. Even back in Winterfell crypt when they were talking about Jon's boy Robert had told him Lord Tywin has already given his consent about taking the boy as his ward. By the mercy of god, Lysa didn't agree. So when Ned offered instead, Robert believed fostering the boy elsewhere would be a grievous affront to the Old Lion but like Ned replied back then to Robert he had more concern for his family's welfare than for a Lannister pride. So if Lord Tywin wanted an answer then Ned would be more than ready.

  
  


Ned didn't bother to confirm the news. There simply was no use for that. True or not, he needed to answer this so instead he asked, "Why was I not told about this early?"

"Answer it Ned. Was the imp abducted by your lady wife?" Robert questioned him.

"Arrested. Not abducted" Ned calmly replied. If the Lannisters dared to do anything Ned would not sit idle. It was past the time to tell Robert about everything. Jon Arryn's suspicious death and his son's attempted murder.

"By what authority Lord Stark?" asked Lord Renly.

"By my authority as the Hand of the King"

"You _were_ Hand of the King, Lord Stark" the boy exclaimed. It appeared as though he didn't like when Ned reprimanded him earlier. Ned was truly disappointed with this one 

"Enough Renly" Robert interjected. He slided the Hand of the King badge towards him. "I know you must have some explanation to do. So spit it out Ned before Tywin Lannister loses his shit"

But before Ned could reply, Robert spoke again which brought terror inside him, "also tell me where in the seven hells is Arthur Dayne?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a new chapter. Chapter 21 on 21st January of 2021 I swear I didn't plan all this.
> 
> Ahh where to begin? At the beginning before writing this chapter I wanted to wrap four different POVs here; Ashara's and Molaquo but seeing the two POVs were already so long hence I planned the remaining two for next chapter.
> 
> This chapter is not much different from canon except for how things will move because of Jon and his actions. Varys is a sly fox who says he works for the realm I really don't believe that crap.
> 
> A water dancer sees with all her senses. Indeed Syrio Forel had taught Arya about that in AGOT. The comparison with animals is all taken from books. GRRM is one helluva writer although I have not read much novels but even I can tell this.
> 
> The talk in the dungeon is between Varys and Illyrio and just like Canon Ned is gonna ignore most of what Arya said. More's the pity. I really don't like Renly might as well kill him off in worse way than in Canon. 
> 
> The Asoiaf timeline says Jon Arryn died in 298 AC. Jon and Arthur left for Starfall in 297 AC in this story. Remember in my fiction Wymar Royce encountered the Others some months earlier and Stark boys also found the wolf pups a year early. The previous chapter was in 298 AC as is this. Dany is 14 years by now and Jon is 15. Surprisingly Joff is just 12. Hard to believe the fucker ruined everyone's lives and died at the age of just 13 in canon. The difference between Arya and Ned's Pov is just a couple of days. The tourney is already over. Congrats to the Knight of Flowers and Mr. Fuck the King.
> 
> [P.S- I didn't have time to edit not that I usually do but still please pass on if there are some grammatical errors]


	22. Revelations and ploys

**Molaquo Maegyr**

_ 297 AC _

The ascendants of old blood gazed as he walked past them among the deep dungeon of the Black Wall. Footsteps drummed off the stones and echoed in the basement. Sealed in the vaults were their depictions carved into the stones. In long rows they sat, impassable eyes staring out into immortal darkness, while a great stone of dragons curled round overhead. As the living passed by, the shifting shadows made the stone figures seem to blend.

  
  


By ancient custom of the fourteen flames, an iron longsword had been laid across the lap of each who had been Triarchs of Volantis, to keep the vengeful spirits in their tombs. Escaping but with only a few red stigma where the metal had rested on stone the oldest triarch had long ago rusted away to nothingness. Molaquo often wondered if that meant those spirits of the dead were free to roam the castle now. He prayed not. The first Triarchs of Volantis had been men as magnificent and imposing as the land they ruled. In the centuries during which the Dragonlords ruled all over the vast land of Essos, they had sworn allegiance to no man, styling themselves as the hierarchy of Valyria.

Now centuries later they were but a tiny fragment of their previous glory.

_ But not for long.  _ Molaquo swore.  _ We shall rise again. _

  
  


Shadows danced and whirled as his steward swept the lantern. Flickering light touched the stones underfoot and brushed against a long parade of ashen pillars that marched ahead, two by two, into the darkness. Between the pillars, the dead sat on their stone thrones against the walls, backs against the graves that contained their mortal remains where sculptures of colored glass depicted the Doom of Valyria. Oil burned in black iron lanterns all along the walls. 

  
  


And past the entomb was his unwelcome guest. _He is down at the end, with the Qohorik sorcerer,_ _struggling to live._

The one he was thinking about was Ser Arthur Dayne.

By his orders, the Qohorik warlock was attending the esteemed knight.  _ I’ll just take a quick look to see what this one is doing. _

The knight somehow miraculously survived the massacre, but barely. His captain of guards and ten more men were the only remains out of the forty he'd dispatched. Molaquo had to admit the fame the knight received was well deserved. A true monster with a blade.

The other one however escaped from his grasps.  _ Daemon Targaryen. _ That insolent brat.

  
  


He ordered his steward to wait for him at the entrance as he reached the dungeon. Inside he saw the knight unconscious covered with bandages all over the body. Little puffs of smoke filled the air inside the dungeon. Ghrazdin in his scarlet and velvet robes was standing near the bed awaiting him.

  
  
  
  


"How is our guest doing?" Molaquo asked the warlock. The dust made his eyes itch and water.

  
  


"As well you'd like" the warlock responded. His summer blue eyes red and raw from the smoke. "Although I ought not rub him so much. He may not live longer if this continues"

Pairs of dark eyes were peering at him as he saw dozens of crows. Some rested over the iron bar of the fat tallow candles lit inside the room. Two were on the bed. A couple more at the cupboard. The sight was disturbing but those big ugly birds were least of his concerns. As he gazed properly at the knight, Molaquo could make out Ser Arthur was deathly pale. His beard and hair were filthy and the scent from his body smelled musky and medicine. Molaquo wrinkled his nose at the foul smell. Ser knight's cheeks looked hallowed and lips were dark. Bloodstained bandages covered his upper torso.

"I don't want him dead but I don't want him to open his eyes either. Make him sleep further. I want him awake and in his right sense when I tell you" 

  
  


Molaquo took a quick glance at the empty platter over the table near the bed, and saw a tree cat feasting on a mouse. 

"One more glass then, just one more drop of the soup and he won't open his eyes for three days" said the warlock grabbing the tree cat by his throat and slicing his neck with a dragger. The tree cat hissed but could not prevail. The warlock seated himself in the chair and brought a glass and a tube on the table.

It was only then Molaquo realised what he meant by one more glass. The warlock was mixing the blood of a tree cat with wine and his strange liquor. It looked disgusting to him but that's what is to be expected from a wizard.

He took hold of the glass with his left hand and inspected. The liquid was thick and heavy. He brushed his plump fingers over the glass, swirling it and slipped the liquid. The black water was gone in half a heartbeat. Squishing all over the knight's mouth.

"This is the divine wine of the  _ Black Goat of Qohor _ " the warlock explained, "the portion you see in that small tube is refined from  _ Darkwash _ river"

To the far side of the room he saw the knight's blood stained sword.  _ The blade that bit through the forged steel of my men cutting their body in pieces.  _ It was no ordinary longsword. Molaquo was convinced.  _ Now I know why he was called the Sword of the Morning.  _

If circumstances were different Molaquo would have preferred to keep such a magical blade in his possession but seeing the situation in hands he couldn't.  _ That brat also took my blade and now I am forced to tend the wounds of his Kingsguard with the help of this wizard. _

"I have lesser interest in your Black God and his zealots. Just do as you are told" Molaquo commanded, grumbling. He didn't like to talk to this priest about nonsense affairs unrelated to him.

"Maybe you ought to bring more of these tree cats the next time you came down here." Ghrazdin said in his usual bored tone. The tree cats were the animals found mostly in the vast forest of Qohor.

  
  


Pushing himself to his feet, Ghrazdin grimaced as he thrusted the pins and needles in the knight's neck. 

"Remind me to bring a cushion. It would be even better if I were to sleep down here, in the cell with your guest" the priest said in a humourless tone. His hair and beard looked dirty enough. Though that couldn't be helped. He was locked in the dungeon for months now without any trace of sunlight attending Arthur Dayne.

"What about the promise you people made to hatch the dragon?" Molaquo asked Ghrazdin, changing the topic.

The priests of Qohor had promised him a dragon. Ever since he was informed how those mongrels of the red Temple; Bennerro and Kinvara were successful in hatching a dragon, Molaquo was impatient to have his own. 

_ That brat escaped with a dragon.  _ Molaquo was furious when he received the ill news from his sources in the red temple.  _ How did he even possess a dragon egg?  _ Could that be the remaining Targaryens also have the dragon egg of their own? Molaquo highly doubted that. Be that as it may now he needed to hunt that brat wherever he was and take the newly hatched dragon away from him.

Because the boy escaped from him, Molaquo now had to keep Arthur Dayne alive. He could not take risks if the boy somehow reached Rhaella.

_ Although I have to thank that brat for killing those high priests scums. _ Bennerro and Kinvara were the only oppositions he had in Volantis aside from Nyessos Vhassar. Now Molaquo could do whatever pleases him.

"Incubating a dragon is not as easy as any fowl hatching it's chicken" Ghrazdin rebuked, "it would prove to be a lot grueling, more so as seeing the dragon egg you were given was from the ancient Asshai. It might be centuries older or maybe even more. We need to perform blood rituals by offering a pure valyrian blood and I am not talking about any random person with silver hair and purple eyes" Molaquo narrowed his eyes hearing that.

  
  


"Don't give me that look. You should know by now that your bloodline is not as pure as you might have thought. Even if I were to sacrifice your own son it would achieve naught and say somehow you find a pure valyrian I can not say I  _ will _ hatch. By miracle supposing I did incubate the beast I am not even convinced you could tame it" the warlock told him impassively.

The sheer humiliation he felt when he heard those words made him want to kill the damn wizard right there and then but he had to hold himself from doing so. He could do nothing but swallow those words like a bitter tea.

Molaquo turned around and left the room, irritated and dishonored, toward his cabin beckoning his steward to lead the way. He urgently needed to find a pure valyrian blood. He even thought about sacrificing one of the Targaryens but soon discarded the notion. He couldn't afford it right now. He was not even sure if the Qohorik could hatch the dragon egg and the Targaryens were his only door to the sunset kingdoms.  _ No, I cannot incur the risk.  _ It was not worth it. Would that the new high priest however may have a solution for this dilemma.  _ They were fortunate in conceiving a dragon previously, evidently they would again. _

  
  
  


The whole city was stewed and glazed. The festival was running wild. All the talk of Volantis recently was of the red comet. Sailors and soldiers alike were dancing on the streets with nobles and merchants in every inn and winesink cups. Sex slaves and streetwalkers were pleasuring every man on the streets. Flavoured wines brought from YiTi were distributed as though they were but a bowl of porridge. It was similar to the elections for the seat of Triarch. The reason for their joyous mood were the deaths of the red priests of R'hllor. The red god and their disciples were just as much hated as they were followed. The fiery hands were not having a good time lately. The R'hllor dogs were distraught, crying on their red temple. Begging and praying for their alien god from dusk till dawn. As the rest of the Volantis was alight with burning passion the candles of the temple however were extinguished as they mourned for their high preachers. Volantis was in uproar like never before.

  
  


An hour later Molaquo found himself in his cabin meeting the new high priest, Moqorro.

_ Another wizard _ . Molaquo thought to himself but unlike Ghrazdin this wizard was a monster of a man, as tall as his captain of guards over seven foot and twice as wide, with a belly like a boulder and a tangle of bone-white hair that grew about his face like a lion’s mane. His skin was black. Not the nut brown of the Summer Islanders on their swan ships, nor the red-brown of the Dothraki horse lords, or the charcoal-and-earth color of the dusky woman’s skin, but black. Blacker than coal, blacker than jet, blacker than a raven’s wing.  _ Burned _ , Molaquo thought, like a man who has been roasted in the flames until his flesh chars and crisps and falls smoking from his bones. The fires that had charred him still danced across his cheeks and forehead, where his eyes peered out from amongst a mask of frozen flames.  _ Slave tattoos _ , the Triarch of Volantis knew about that.

  
  


Molaquo had encountered many priests before. Bennerro and Kinvara as such. They always seem to have worn rich crimson and scarlet robes of silk and velvet and lambswool. This one, the new high priest however was dressed in faded, smoke-stained balck rags of a cloak and robes that clung to his thick legs and hung about his torso. As Molaquo studied the man he looked unfazed in his presence. 

  
  


"Did your robes catch on fire, your eminence?" Molaquo asked, giving the man some fabricated respect.  _ An appearance can deceive a man's true nature. _ Molaquo knew that very well.

Now that the slaves of R'hllor were in disarray it was the perfect moment for him to convince them to join hands.

  
  


"Fire. Yes, my lord" the black man nodded but didn't say anything else. Through one of his spies from the Temple of the Lord of Light Molaquo was told the red priest wanted to meet him and he didn't refuse. Molaquo would have preferred to meet the man somewhere else from prying eyes and ears but the spy told him the high priest could care much about mundane affairs.

  
  


"So why did you want to meet me?" Molaquo asked sternly. If this man had ulterior motives then he couldn't just kill him right off like Daemon Targaryen but Molaquo had other alternatives.

“For two reasons, your lordship" Moqorro crossed his arms against his chest. "I have seen you in the nightfires, Lord Molaquo Maegyr. You hope to join your family with the Targaryens and invade Westeros." 

Molaquo was surprised hearing that.  _ How did they know?  _ Maybe they truly are wizards.... or maybe somebody was keeping an eye on me. 

"You are the indispensable ally of our one true Azor Ahai,  _ Viserys Targaryan _ . In my flames the  _ Heart of Fires _ had revealed me our true saviour and you were by his side. In his darkest hour you shall guide him to a new dawn" the red priest declared. Molaquo was momentarily lost for words.  _ Could this man really see the future like the fiery hand claims. Are the red priests from the Temple of the Lord of light this majestic? _

Regardless of whatever that may be Molaquo saw an invaluable opportunity.  _ I had hoped to convince them to join hands. It seems the fourteen flames had already heeded my desire.  _

"The other reason?" Molaquo asked the monster of a priest. The man said there were two reasons.

The blackman's eyes turned dark as he scowled, "The other reason being _Daemon Targaryen_. That monster killed two of our high priests and priestesses. My superiors made the mistake of thinking him as _the_ _Lord of Light's_ chosen one when in truth he was _the_ _Great Other_ 's chosen one all along. We need to end him" 

Hearing that Molaquo was truly satisfied. Now he was certain the gods were favouring him. "On that we both can agree. That boy is a true menace"

Bennerro nodded his head. "Not only you and Azor Ahai but I have also seen that demon in the nightfires. In the visions, he comes striding through the flames stern and fierce, his demonic black sword dripping blood, killing everyone in his path….but oblivious to the cord that grasps him at wrist and neck and ankle, the  _ webs _ that make him  _ dance _ .”

"What is that supposed to mean?" asked Molaquo, trying to understand what webs was the priest talking about and who was behind the dance. Observing the way the red priest spoke it appeared to Molaquo that somebody was backing the boy. Maybe he was wrong and it was just an exaggeration of the wizard but still... 

"Is it not obvious that _God of Flame and Shadow_ is trying to warn us the boy is but a puppet of _the_ _Other whose name shall not be spoken_ " Benerero answered as if that was the only thing to say. _Yes, exaggeration nothing else._ Molaquo concluded. The boy was beastling, true but nothing about the boy reeked of the danger this priest was making it out. _He is just an obstacle in my path that I need to crush. If this brutish priest thinks that the boy is some mighty villain of children's tale and Viserys the hero then let him think just that. If it is working in my favour I have nothing to worry about._

"Forgive me for asking that your eminence but I am not much into such colossal R'hllor lores but you are right to say Daemon Targaryen needs to be stopped before he incurs more damage than he already have" Molaquo slowly began, the corner of his mouth twisting. "But to achieve that we need to work together and start finishing his allies first and only then we can know where he is at. Sensing now he has a dragon besides that beastly wolf of his I doubt not he's gone hiding"

The black brute clasped his hands together and nodded, "I agree my lord. And I assume you know about his allies?"

Just the thing Molaquo wanted to hear from the priest. The wizard may claim to see everything in his flames but those words gave away.  _ Not even his red god would know everything _ . Either that or this fool don't understand his god.

"Daemon Targaryen has many allies, your eminence. Capable associates. Even as we speak there are many inside the black walls. The most prominent being Lord  _ Nyessos Vhassar  _ and the Elephant factions. Nyessos was the one who gave away the word to the boy about King Viserys" Molaquo said, leaning his head closer. This was the beginning for Molaquo to achieve his goals. Volantis was ruled by three power factions. The Elephants, the Tigers and the slaves of R'hllor. If the latter two were to work together and unify then the Elephant factions would be outnumbered and eliminated. 

_That scum Nyessos had opposed me enough already, now with this red god zealots I can truly rule Volantis and find out the truth about Nyestros and Illyrio._ Molaquo held no doubts that Nyessos was working with Illyrio. 

He continued further, "He was the one behind King Viserys departure to Pentos. The King and his family are now in Pentos residing in the mansion of Magister Illyrio Mopatis. A friend of Lord Vhassar and another influential ally of Daemon Targaryen." 

Now was the time for Molaquo to strike the Pentoshi cheesemonger once he uncovers the mystery behind the man. His sudden rise to power and his significant ties.  _ I want to know everything about this man. Why is he interested in Targaryens and what does he want from them? _

"If we were to eliminate him as well then we can guide the King to the new dawn as you mentioned" Molaquo counseled, brushing his silvery beard.

Who would have thought that someone as worthless as Viserys would someday prove to be this useful.  _ He is not even here and half of my problems are soon going to be dealt.  _

"These two are the most important allies of Daemon Targaryen here in Essos. They will surely protect the boy from us and they might know his whereabouts. To the other side of Narrow Sea the boy has the most powerful ally in House Stark. His family. The ruling wardens of the northernmost kingdom. If the boy ever went for the throne of sunset kingdoms then the Starks would back him up and rise in rebellion opposing the rightful heir King Viserys. We need to find and kill Daemon Targaryen soon before they could help him" He told the priest, grimacing.

Moqorro bowed, his dark eyes shining. “Any person that goes against the  _ Son of fire  _ and the  _ Warrior of Light, _ or supports that demon is our enemy. If we have to end them then so be it" 

Molaquo rose from his chair and stretched his hand. "It appears we were meant to follow the same destiny, your eminence."

  
  


As the black priest stood up a feet higher looking down on him shaking his hand, the burnt face gave the man a feral look. "I, Moqorro, the flame of truth, the Light of wisdom and the slave of R'hllor hereby acknowledge Triarch Molaquo Maegyr as true adherent of R'hllor chosen"

" _ The night is dark and full of terrors. O'mighty Lord of Light protect us. Let your chosen one lead us from the eternal darkness"  _ Covered in black from head to heel, with a mask of red-and-orange flames tattooed across his face, and saying those lines, the priest appeared more sinister than any other high priest Molaquo ever met.

"The  _ fiery hands _ support you full my lord. If you want our help to sabotage Nyessos Vhassar then we are more than ready to do so" Moqorro declared. His dark eyes shone with determination.

"Two months from now in the semiannual council meeting of Volantis where all the nobles and merchants of the city are gathered we shall take him down, your eminence." Molaquo called for it.

The wizard bowed his head, "Then I shall also send messengers all over the Essos where temples of R'hllor are established about Daemon Targaryen. Wherever he is he must not escape us."

"You ought not do that, your eminence" Molaquo quickly denied. 

  
  


_ If this black priest gave away the news about Daemon Targaryen then not only would Rhaella know about the boy but the people of Westeros would as well. Assuming that were to happen all of a sudden then all his plans would drown in the narrow sea.  _

_ Targaryens still have many supporters left in Westeros. While the news of Daemon Targaryen's origins surrounding his birth could potentially destroy House Stark but it could also backfire. If people were to find out the rebellion was built a lie and there's one more Targaryen born from two noble house and if they were given option to choose a Targaryen between Viserys and Daemon then anybody would chose the one with real dragon and the noble lords would jump if given a chance to marry their daughter to that brat. They wouldn't even care if the boy is a trueborn or not. And the worst thing is even Rhaella supports the boy's claim to the Iron throne. _

  
  


No. Molaquo shook his head internally. This piece of information should be hidden and buried for as long as it must. 

The priest querched in his brow, confused. "Why not, my lord?"

"Because", Molaquo picked his words carefully, "if you were to make the news about Daemon Targaryen known to everyone then it would surely reach Westeros and doing so would only endanger King Viserys. The Usurper would do anything to kill Targaryens, if there was another Targaryen born from the woman he fought a war over reached his ears then nothing would contain him. No I say this is too risky"

The priest contemplated his words for a second. "You are right my lord. We should not risk the life of King Viserys"

Molaquo thought for a moment rubbing his fingers together and said, "You can however spread rumours about the boy without spilling his name. We can not let the boy rest easy and have him grow more influence" Oh yes they can do that. With a dragon in his hand the boy should not return back to Westeros unless he prepared an army to fight. 

"As you say my lord. The Lord of light has shown me your worth." The priest agreed.

Half an hour later the black priest left his cabin. It was past noon. Molaquo called for his servant to prepare him a bath. 

As he removed his wearings and settled in the bathtub, cold water flowed through his hair and beard down to his underarm, torso and femur keeping him cool. Molaquo kept his eyes closed and thought for a moment.  _ Rhaella had delayed the marriage between Visenya and Viserys longer than he'd anticipated.  _ Although Molaquo would have never thought some Pentoshi all of sudden would take Targaryens away like that.  _ Still I can not afford to stay any longer. I am not going to grow younger if I stay idle. I just need to know what Pentoshi has prepared for Targaryens.  _ His grandchildren were also in Pentos and nothing they wrote about the cheesemonger seemed suspicious. Then there was that beastling.

Truth be told Daemon Targaryen was no threat on his own. Even the dragon. A baby dragon could be killed easily but Molaquo wanted the dragon.  _ If only I could get my hand on one…. _

Damn Nyessos Vhassar. That stinking fox. Provided that he had not forced Molaquo to give the game away about Targaryens residing in Pentos then it would not have caused this much inconvenience... but still Molaquo could work with that. He'd sent a messenger to his grandchildren the very day Ser Arthur was brought. In any case if anybody tried to reach Rhaella and her children they would have to go through his men. If the boy dared to go Pentos he'd die and the sooner he died the sooner he could finish Arthur Dayne as well.

And if the boy had some wits and didn't go to Pentos then he already had Ser Arthur Dayne in his grasp. 

_Things always don't go as you envisioned I shouldn't be thinking that right now but instead how I should wipe out Nyessos and his subordinates_ _from power._

The servant girl was rubbing his back with soap and Molaquo relaxed, appreciating the delicate fingers of the wench. The wench was a pretty girl with hardly eighteen name days. Silver-gold of hair and soft lilac eyes. There was this softness in her face that stirred something inside him. The more she began to rub his thigh with the soap the more his member began to harden. His wife had died for well over forty years now and he had not married again but that didn't necessarily mean he was a celibate. All of his  _ servants  _ were silver of hair tracing valyrian beauty. It reminded him of his dead wife whenever he took them. This wench was a new one. He'd not tasted her before. As he looked at her face he could make out she was terrified. Rightly so.  _ She may have silver hair and purple eyes but that doesn't mean she's a valyrian. Wenches like her have high value in pleasure houses only. In any case she should be thankful she's serving me.  _

As she saw his hardened member her eyes went wide but she didn't speak anything.

"What is your name, girl?" Molaquo asked in his usual hard voice.

The poor girl flinched when she heard but somehow weakly replied, "Selaehra, m'lord" Her head was bowed down as she didn't look at his eyes.

"Selaehra, huh? Look at me and tell how did you end up here in my service?" Molaquo asked, raising her chin with his finger. Her skin was soft. Delicately so.

As she stared at him, Molaquo was left astonished at how much she resembled Princess Daenerys Targaryen."I was contracted by Lord Arwin through Lady Tyara Rogare of Lys." The girl spoke lightly. As if she had warm memories of this other Lady.

Arwin was his captain of guards. For the most part it was the captain's duty to provide his requirements. From hiring swords to households all was overseen by Arwin.

"Who is this Lady Tyara Rogare?"

"Uhh, m'lord. My mother…"

"Gentle with the toes" Molaquo ordered and the girl compiled, slowly scrubbing his feet.

"My mother used to work at a pleasure house in Lys. I was born and raised there. When I was just a child my mother left me to be a concubine of some master from Yunkai. It was Lady Tyara who raised me. She was like a guardian to me. She thought instead of working like a sex slave for every men that pays coin I should be working somewhere exclusive" the girl answered honestly. 

_ Ahh surrogate mother-daughter relationship. Colour me surprised why it reminds me of Princess Daenerys and Lady Ashara all over again. These women, I will never understand them.  _

The girl finished washing and toweled his body and prepared his clothes. Black velvet doublet slashed with white silk bearing sigil of House Maegyr. His body may urge him to take pleasure from the wench but Molaquo was not a boy any longer. He was the Triarch of Volantis and he had his duties to attend to. Molaquo decided he needed to send another pair of his guards to Pentos to update them about the recent turn of events. His grandchildren would also inform Magister Manolo and all their inner circles of Magisters.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Ashara Dayne**

_ 298 AC _

  
  


They rode to the Magistrate Manolo's mansion in a palanquin passing through various keeps and bazaars in the alleyway. The day was beginning and the city of Pentos was coming alive. It was late morning. Daylight flared on the horizon under the pale of mist as she gazed outside from the curtains. 

For a closed year and half now they had resided in the Illyrio lavish estate, dining his plentiful dishes and drinks, nourished and indulged by his servants with promises of helping them but to no avail. Now the fat man had unexpectedly disappeared from the scene claiming to attend a ' _ business talk _ '. 

Illyrio Motapis has been gone from Pentos for two months now. Rhaella suspected he might be off to somewhere they should have known about. Also the thing to be noted was Viserys ever since Illyrio left started to be quite sullen. Rhaella and herself speculated there was something going on between the two. Elsewise the always loud mouth, self declared King of seven kingdoms would seldom keep quiet when one of his so called 'subordinate' would take his leave. Especially knowing how demanding Viserys could be.  _ There had to be something going on but Viserys just won't talk. _

Also there was that annoying brother sister twins always keeping him engaged. Most specifically his betrothed Visenya Maegyr. 

Ineptly she was also riding in the same litter as them. Ashara, Rhaella, Viserys and Visenya together the four were visiting Magister Manolo as they were summoned by that oaf Marquoro in urgency.

The purpose of the meeting was still not clarified. Except they were told someone important was attending.

Speaking of Visenya, the girl was lost in her thoughts unlike her usual know-it-all teasing demeanor. She was a pretty girl, Visenya, past twenty name days, soft silver hair and dark purple eyes. A voluptuous body that would make men go weak. Today she was dressed in Ivory samite gown, cloth of silver lined with silvery satin with long pointed dragged sleeve arms. The bodice was slashed in front almost to her belly. Ashara herself was dressed similarly, not surprising as the dress was gifted to her by Marquoro himself. Ashara wore a gown of ivory lace with swirls of tiny sparkles brightened the ends of her wide sleeves and spiraled down her bodice.

The tension inside the litter was high. It appeared to her that everyone apart from her had a secret of their own. Viserys was brooding silently. Visenya was also the same. Even Rhaella was lost in her own thoughts although Ashara didn't know what. It has been a day since Rhaella started to act strangely as if something was eating her inside. Ashara never got the time to ask.

She should be worrying herself in view of the fact that Nyestros Maegyr, that urchin, remained in Illyrio's manse with Dany. Previously there was Viserys and Illyrio but this time there was none. Ashara began to feel uneasiness.

_ I am worrying too much. She's not a child anymore. I can not hide her forever and have her play like a little princess forever.  _ She reminded herself which was true. Daenerys needed to make her own decisions and choices.  _ If she can not do that then nothing I say or do would work.  _

Calming her nerves she walked out of the litter as they reached their destination. The morning was sizzling even though it was autumn. Viserys for some reason chose to wear a tunic of blood red leather. How did he not end up cooked Ashara could not tell. From his shoulders streamed a black wooden cloak embroidered with the sigil of three headed dragons on black field. He carried a short sword in his waist. 

  
  


Viserys led the way as they strolled inside the manse past the gatekeepers through the portcullis. The same fair haired maiden like previous time beckoned them to follow. 

  
  


Light curtain walls loomed above them as they passed the alleyway of marvels, beyond the large oak doors they reached the backyard where two Unsullied stood sentry. Following the servant they went to the backyard garden and beyond the garden they reached the retaining walls.

  
  


As they neared towards their host Ashara could finally make out who were waiting for them and when she realised who it was. She freezed.  _ No, it couldn't be…. _

Her mind was playing tricks on her. Garbed in a black robe and breeches with short blonde hair and full beard, it was her brother.  _ Arthur. _

In a heartbeat Ashara ran towards her brother not caring what others might think of her. Viserys even yelled but she ran nonetheless until finally she got her arms around him and embraced him with all her might. Tears started to threaten from her eyes and Ashara could not stop her sob.

_ Sixteen years.  _ It was that long since last she had seen her brother. Sixteen years long. Now seeing him after all these years.

"Arthur" She pronounced weakly,

"Shhh, Ash" Arthur shushed her, "everything is going to be alright. I am here" He clutched her tightly. 

After a moment, she finally broke the embrace and looked at him closely. He looked tired and old. Dark circles were behind his eye bags. He also appeared more frail and slender than she remembered. Ashara noticed he was carrying  _ Dawn  _ at his sword belt. 

"How?" She asked but Molaquo interjected,

"Everybody let us take a seat and talk. We have some important matters to settle." Molaquo Maegyr boomed. She turned her head around and saw him. He wore crimson silk, high black boots, a black satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the quarter of his House was embroidered in red and white thread.

  
  


"Your grace" her brother went on one knee greeting Rhaella, His head bowed.

"Ser Arthur Dayne" Rhaella regarded the knight coldy. Despite all these years Rhaella had never fully forgiven her brother and Oswell for helping Rhaegar steal Lyanna like that. In her mind it was risky and unbecoming of knights and a prince of a realm, and Ashara could not argue with that. She didn't doubt Rhaella would have wanted Arthur to be with Rhaegar in the trident.  _ She lost her first born and Arthur's duty as a Kingsguard should have been at the Trident guarding Rhaegar not at some red mountains in Dorne. _

"Ser Arthur Dayne, Sword of the Morning, a former Kingsguard" Viserys exclaimed, "Rise to your feet. So finally you came to sense and had the decency to acknowledge the rightful King" Viserys announced and it was only then Ashara realised she didn't see Rhaegar's son anywhere. The one for whom Arthur left to Winterfell. Her brother rose to his feet.

Viserys continued, "But I don't see my nephew here. Where is he? Did you leave him at the home of Usurper's dog and how come you meet Triarch Molaquo Maegyr?"

Guilt and sadness was written all over her brother's face. 

"Like I said there are things to be discussed" Molaquo Maegyr announced, "about Prince Daemon and other things"

_ Prince? Since when did Molaquo know about the boy?  _ Ashara eyed the Triarch. Astonishingly Rhaella was calm and stoic. She had already taken a seat. Ashara seated herself near her brother. Molaquo was at the head of the table near him the old grey bearded fat Magister in his green silk tunic and golds. Opposite him seated Rhaella. Viserys and Visenya took a seat near each other.

Flagons of wines were served at the table. Servants came and poured them each.

"So Lord Maegyr since when did Ser Arthur was with you and why did you not think it was improper to tell us?" asked Rhaella, she didn't appear least bothered that her grandson was not here as if she knew he wouldn't be.

"For nearly a year now your grace. Forgive me for not telling you sooner but we had no idea of his identity back then. He was a criminal in the eyes of Volantis waiting to be judged" Molaquo answered evenly. 

Ashara gasped hearing that. "Criminal? What crime did my brother commit?"

Molaquo glanced at her, "All shall be answered my lady" Arthur put a hand in her shoulder and weakly nodded. "As I said, he was waiting to be judged because for seven moons he was unconscious and constantly healed by my healers" She drew breath sharply as Arthur gripped her hand tightly, containing her.

"Why was he unconscious for that long?" Viserys asked, confused. Ashara wanted to know as well.  _ So that's why he looks so weak. _

"The reason your grace was because I had ordered my men to bring Ser Arthur before me. He barely survived resisting my men" Molaquo said, "Although he killed more than thirty of my men. Him and Prince Daemon"

Ashara choked the wine she was drinking, "So are you saying the prince was killed because of you"

"The fourteen flames forbid, no, my lady. The sin was committed by Lord Nyessos Vhassar working under Illyrio Mopatis" Molaquo revealed and Ashara was dumbfounded hearing that.

Ashara looked around the table and saw Viserys seemed shocked. Visenya was quiet and sipping her wine. Rhaella showed indifference.

_ Why is she acting like this?  _ Ashara could not comprehend. Did she not believe him? Truth be told Ashara also didn't. There was no way. Illyrio, as far as she could say, he had no idea about Daemon unless Viserys told him and Nyessos Vhassar working for Illyrio?

Molaquo looked at Rhaella and told, "Prince Daemon and Ser Arthur here came to Volantis a year ago looking for your graces hiding behind the alias of Jon Snow and Aurane Waters. At that time I didn't know the truth but Nyestros instantly recognized them. When Nyessos told him you were in fact in Pentos to two strangers I realised he was working for Magister Illyrio. Prince Daemon abruptly left black wall repeating the same words that his companion was injured and not long before killing one of our guards on the gatekeep. Regrettably and without intentionally I believe he started a riot in Volantis. A dozen people died, more injured as he raced through the long bridge. Some nobles were angered as their slaves died, followers of R'hllor demanded justice, merchants were furious as the riot destroyed their markets,

"For those transgressions I as Triarch of Volantis had no other options but to capture the culprit. You can confirm Ser Arthur here"

Her brother slowly nodded without looking at anybody in particular. Only brushing his fingers through the wine glass.  _ Seven hells. _

  
  


"So how are Illyrio and Nyessos related to that?" Rhaella demanded, unyielding.

"After seven moons when Ser Arthur woke. He revealed his identity and told us Prince Daemon had escaped which was true as we never found his body. As Arthur was bedridden there was an attempted murder on him but in the nick of time my captain of guards Arwin saved the knight. The assassin revealed he was contracted by Lord Nyessos Vhassar"

  
  


"By the help of a valuable  _ ally _ we also found out that for re-elections Illyrio Mopatis had paid Nyessos enough to win him eight times over" Molaquo revealed taking a gulp from the ice cold Arbour gold.

  
  


Ashara had her eyes wide open. It did make sense. How would Illyrio contact Viserys in the first place. Still, she could not take whatever the old cunning man said for granted.

Rhaella looked at her son and asked, "Did you know about all this?"

Viserys shook his head.

"I assume you also have no hints where did he go?" Viserys didn't reply to that. Pouring another glass of wine to avoid talking.  _ He surely knows where he's at. _

"Magister Manolo" Molaquo addressed the old man, "I believe you have to bring to the table"

"As you will, my lord" The Magister nodded, "Your grace as I have said last time, if you recall, about Illyrio's second wife Serra" Ashara remembered that conversation. The magister had told them it was the reason for the fall out between Illyrio and the reigning Prince of Pentos.

Rhaella nodded her head. Viserys was as dense as ever.

"As I have said my spies had acquainted me about Illyrio's son who disappeared after the plague. As we believed he is indeed alive. Triarch Molaquo had found him" the old man revealed wrinkling his grump nose. 

  
  


The magister had claimed that inside Illyrio's manse his spies had seen the boy nearly a moon after the plague but Illyrio had confirmed his son died.

Ashara turned her head and peered at Molaquo.  _ What is he going to reveal next? _

"Magister Manolo here speaks truth, your grace" Molaquo confirmed, pursing his lips. His dark indigo eyes glittering. "The boy is in fact in Myr encamped with Golden Company. The recent war between the three quarrelsome daughters of Valyria left Lys the victor. The Golden Company are in Myr hired by what remained of the city"

_ I can help you with the Golden Company, I would not pay them but I can convince them to be paid their dues later once the Seven Kingdoms are taken _ . The Cheesemonger had tried to convince them with his honey sweet voice back in his manse.

Regarding the two free cities if the rumors held the truth then Myr should not be able to contract the high priced Golden Company. As of late ghastly and dreadful whispers were spreading in Pentos. It began some months after the bleeding star was seen in the sky. Dany believed it to be the birth of a dragon. Viserys proclaimed it as the inception of his subsequent retake of his realm destined by God himself. The followers of R'hllor, in contrast to others, warned some abomination upsurge from hell and moons later Myr and Tyrosh were left in dust. The name Windblown was breathed. At present the most feared mercenary group responsible for the ruins.

"The Golden Company even as we speak is encamped three miles south of town, near the sea of Myrth." Molaquo interrupted her trail of thoughts. "The boy is hiding under false name of young griff and the person who is hiding him is none other than  _ Griff _ , his supposed father whom you may come to know as Jon Connigton, the former Hand of the King'' 

Ashara's mouth went wide as she was left flabbergasted. Arthur abruptly snapped his neck towards Molaquo. It appeared Arthur also didn't know about this. Even Rhaella was wide eyed.

  
  


"Connington was talked to have drunk himself to death in Lys after being driven from the Golden company in disgrace for stealing from the war chest" Rhaella tried to deny. It was what Illyrio had told them.

  
  


Ashara recalled Jon Connigton. A proud youth, the most headstrong of the gaggle of young lordlings who had gathered around Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, competing for his royal favor. Arrogant, but able and energetic. The former heir of Griffin's Roost. After the failure in Battle of Bells he was sent into exile by old King Aerys.  _ Battle of the Trident would never have been fought if Jon Connigton had slain Robert Baratheon there in Stoney Sept _ . 

_ The bells tolled not only to Jon but for all of us that day when the Griffin lost to the stag. For Aerys and Rhaella, for her friend Elia of Dorne and little princess Rhaenys. For Rhaegar and his she-wolf. For Arthur and myself. _

  
  


"A murmur farce, your grace. He has been dancing to the Illyrio's pipes for years." Molaquo revealed snorting in his gruff tone. "Jon Connigton had spent five years with the company, rising from the ranks to a place of honor as the previous commander's right hand man. Had he stayed he would have doubtless been the new commander but he went to hiding after he was contracted by Illyrio and his mysterious friend whom you may know as Lord Varys, the master of whispers in the Usurper's council"

Silence greeted his announcement. 

_ The spider. _

The eunuch who served Aerys before he served Robert. The man who could never be trusted. Rhaella had no doubts it was him who lent ears to Robert about their whereabouts back in Braavos.

Someone cleared his throat. It was Visenya. One of the servants came and refilled her wine cup from the flagon.

Magister Manolo coughed, Ashara and Rhaella exchanged a glance.

"Varys? As in the spider? So Lord Maegyr you are saying he's working with Illyrio?" Viserys asked, stupefied.

"The very one, your grace" Molaquo insisted, nodding his head.

"But I am failing to see what Illyrio's supposed dead son has to do with all this?" Viserys questioned taking a swig, and Ashara agreed. What was the point and why was Illyrio hiding him while working with Varys. What was the eunuch planning?

The Triarch stopped for a moment and studied Viserys before saying, "why because Illyrio passed his blackfyre son as  _ Aegon Targaryen _ , firstborn son of Rhaegar, Prince of Dragonstone, by Princess Elia of Dorne. He wants his son to be Aegon, the Sixth of His Name, King of Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.” 

Ashara was left speechless.

"What?" Viserys yelled standing from his seat. The glass of wine poured all over the table. He was already half drunk by that point. "what kind of nonsense is this, Lord Maegyr?"

  
  


"Sit down Viserys" Rhaella commanded her son harshly,

"Is this that hard to believe your grace? Or did magister Illyrio promise you something else?" Lord Maegyr observed Viserys, scrunching his eyebrows.

  
  


Viserys gulped, "No. It is not that Lord Maegyr" 

Rhaella and Ashara gazed at Viserys with uncertainty. The boy held his glass again for the servant to fill him with more pale Pentoshi amber wine.

  
  


"Your grace. Illyrio would sooner dispose of you, which extends to my daughter as well now that she is your betrothed, to place his son on the throne. My best presumption would be he will hope to marry Princess Daenerys with his son"

"No he promised her with Khal Drogo..." Viserys slurred before he realised it was too late.

"What did you say?" Rhaella clutched his shoulders.

Ashara glanced at Lord Maegyr and found even he was surprised.

Viserys could not deny now that he was cornered. "Khal Drogo. The fiercest of all Khals. Dany has blood of old Valyria and highborn, daughter of the old king, sister to the new, she cannot fail to enchant Khal Drogo. She is old enough for the khal Illyrio had told me '' Ashara could not believe what Viserys admitted. She never thought the boy would be this crazy and senseless. The same boy she saw grew up yet now Viserys schemed to sell his daughter, the girl Ashara raised as her own daughter, to a stranger. A barbarian. Her hands desperately itched to slap the fool there and then.

"How could you even think about selling your own sister to savages, you dim-witted fool" Rhaella was ablaze. Her violet eyes were wide and she was gritting her teeth.

Anger flashed in his lilac eyes, "How could we ever reach our home if we sit around here doing nothing. What have you ever accomplished? Even Lord Maegyr is here because of me, not you." Ashara noticed Arthur was glaring at Viserys with disappointment.

  
  


“Marriages are the best way to create alliance and besides we won’t need Drogo's whole khalasar,” Viserys announced. “Ten thousand, that would be enough, I could sweep the Seven Kingdoms with ten thousand Dothraki screamers. The realm will rise for its rightful king. Tyrell, Redwyne, Darry, Greyjoy, they have no more love for the Usurper than I do. The Dornishmen burn to avenge Elia and her children. And the smallfolk will be with us. They cry out for their king.” If Rhaella didn't stop this Ashara was determined she certainly would. This craven beef-witted pignut knew nothing. 

"Illyrio told me as much, muna. They are my people, and they love me well. In holdfasts all across the realm, men lift secret toasts to my health while women sew dragon banners and hide them against the day of my return from across the water.” He gave a massive shrug. He was effectively tipsy. “Or so Illyrio's agents tell him” He looked at Rhaella anxiously. His lilac eyes never reminded her of Aerys more than right then.  _ Madness _ . This was pure insanity.

For a moment Ashara even felt sympathy for Visenya. No woman would want such a fool as their lord husband. Rightful king or not.  _ He's worse than a moonboy. _ Ashara thought to herself.

"You should not highly regard anything that pox ridden cheesemonger had told you, your grace" Triarch Molaquo advised in a monotonous voice."Now that you know he was planning to usurp you all along" Even he looked tired of Viserys.  _ Good. This is yours to be a good son. _

"I will kill him then and I shall also kill the Usurper myself,” he promised, the coward who had never killed anyone, “as he killed my brother Rhaegar. And Lannister too, the Kingslayer, for what he did to my father.”  _ Your father was a mad man who deserves fate worse than death and you are no better _ .

"As you will, your grace" Molaquo sighed bowing his head.

"Lord Maegyr if that scum Illyrio had already promised Princess Daenerys to Khal Drogo then nothing we do would stop Khal Drogo and his Khalasar to march inside Pentos" Magister Monalo gobbled. The fear was palpable on his face. 

"Then pray the princess is not promised. Not even my Tiger faction can stop a Dorthraki Khalasar and much less Khal Drogo's" Triarch Molaquo grimaced. No fool would face Dothraki in an open field. That was true.

"Your grace" Ashara called out Rhaella, "if what Lord Maegyr says is true then we can stay in Pentos no longer." There was not a chance in seven hells that Dany would be sold to barbarians. Arthur was here. Together they needed to leave somewhere else then.

"And escape to where my lady? Drogo would follow you from Bone Mountains to the hills of Andalos….unless you mean to escape across the narrow sea. The Dothraki never sail the sea" Manolo offered. Would that they could sail back to home but the path was just as treacherous as the other one, if not more. They were truly caught between an anvil and a hammer.  _ A war hammer to be more precise. _

"Magister Illyrio is also not in Pentos. What if he'd gone to this Khal Drogo to arrange the marriage" Visenya wondered, observing her grandfather.

"My lord, Lady Visenya speaks wisely. Illyrio is not here in Pentos. If he returns with Drogo then I am afraid the city walls of Pentos could not hold the Dothraki. We need the Golden Company." Manolo panicked. The Magister was clearly fearful of Khal Drogo. Ashara have heard Khals would often visit Pentos and receive various gifts from different magisters so that they wouldn't harm the properties owned by the magisters.

"Do not fret, Lord Manolo. Illyrio has not traveled to Vaes Dothrak but across the narrow sea. I believe he has gone to see Lord Varys, or where else. My men have eradicated many of Lord Varys whisperers…. Nevertheless you are not wrong to assume we need assist from the Golden Company. Their number as of this moment is ten thousand swords" Molaquo guessed, rubbing his beard.

Viserys was awed by that, "Ten thousand you say. So be it. It would prove to be enough for me. They  _ must _ bow to their rightful king when this Blackfyre pretender is exposed." 

Her ears were on the verge of bleeding every time the fool opened his mouth.

  
  


"How do you know all this my lord? You claim Illyrio, or should I say Varys, made a pact with the Golden Company and the mercenaries are known to never break their contracts. Golden Company are already notorious in the Blackfyre rebellions. How could we possibly trust them. What evidence do you have of this accusation, Triarch Molaquo?" Rhaella went out, narrowing her eyes.

But it was Visenya who answered gazing at her wine glass, "What evidence? I wonder. Forgive me your grace but I have never heard such thing as evidence of a report of something ten years prior"

"Visenya" Triarch Molaquo called his granddaughter and that made her shut, "it is true, your grace, that I have no power to bring you the secret pact upheld by Myles Toyne who put his seal but I do have contacted other members of Company who know about the pact. The men of Golden Company are Westerosi born. They long to return to their home just like you. Given an opportunity they would back your claim and fight."  _ And if they are given more gold by the enemies they'd stab us in the back. _ Ashara thought.

"One particular individual is just that.  _ Trystan Flowers. _ A bastard of Westeros from whom we found out about Illyrio's scheme" Lord Maegyr finished.

"And where this bastard might be?" Rhaella asked Triarch Molaquo in a flat voice,

"In Myr, your grace with the Golden Company"

"There is a way to know what my Grandfather said, your grace" Visenya offered, "as her grace may know she could not possibly go to Myr herself and neither can my betrothed. But the knight here, however could. I have heard Ser Arthur Dayne is very loyal to House Targaryen"

_No._ Ashara panicked. This girl sensed Rhaella was not fond of Arthur. What was she planning to do with her brother? 

  
  


Visenya went on, "He even raised your grandson and fought until last breath to protect him. Such loyalty can not be questioned. If he were to go to meet this Lord Jon Connigton I believe the man would trust him. I assume they know each other. He could reveal the web of schemes spewed by Illyrio and his friend. And possibly bind Golden Company to  _ us _ "

Everybody pondered her words.  _ Why did she want to isolate Arthur from us? _

"That could work" Viserys agreed, nodding his head.

"Ser Arthur Dayne, forgive me for not introducing myself. I am Visenya Maegyr, granddaughter of Triarch Molaquo and betrothed to King Viserys Targaryen'' She introduced herself, her purple eyes gleaming with curiosity or something else Ashara could not decipher.

Arthur awkwardly greeted, bowing his head. "My lady I am honoured to meet you in person"

"You flatter me, ser. I have heard stories about your prowess with a sword and hearing my grandfather confirm, it is me who is honoured to meet you" Visenya complimented, "A knight of your caliber and former kingsguard nonetheless should not be wasted. I believe you are suited evenly to be my betrothed's kingsguard. Don't you think, your grace? It is time you have white cloaks of your own"

Viserys was pleased. "For sure, my lady. As a Kingsguard he can do my bidding but the problem stands he has not swore the knight's oath of fealty to me"

Viserys turned to Arthur and said, "I understand you acted as my nephew's Kingsguard but my dear nephew lives no more. Lord Nyessos has seen to it. Oh I will punish him. Any man who harms the blood of a dragon deserves to die but as of this moment you, Ser Arthur, are without any liege. So here I purpose; swear allegiance to me and I shall let you serve me, the rightful King."

Ashara could see the turmoil written all over her brother's face. The pain of losing Rhaegar's son was visible on his visage. There was a sadness in his violet eyes that made her heart tear. 

Ashara glanced at Rhaella for plea but the Queen was silent as a ghost. Unexpressed.

Everybody was peering at Arthur expectedly. Arthur slowly stood from his seat and moved towards Viserys. 

"If the ceremony is on the outset then I suppose a King should have his crown" Lord Maegyr commented, gaining everyone's attention.

Magister Manolo clapped his hand and a servant presented a slab covered by velvet silk.

Molaquo gestured to Viserys to remove the silk. As Viserys lifted the piece of cloth they saw an aurous spherical heavy crown glazed with amethyst in the centre and painted with a dragon on the sides was presented.

Viserys eagerly placed the crown on his silver-gold hair, adjusting in on the sides to match his head. "A warm thank you for this Triarch Molaquo. I shall not forget this"

"We live to serve, your grace besides you are soon to be my family member" the old man remarked.  _ This sly bastard. _

Her brother appeared before the boy and knelt, clasping his hands and stretching  _ Dawn  _ outward towards Viserys. Ashara could not imagine how much pain Arthur was feeling. Sixteen years ago back in Starfall he was arguing with Ned Stark that he would raise the babe himself and make him a King like his dear friend Rhaegar was supposed to be.  _ Now that little babe is no more. _

Ashara didn't know the boy at all yet she felt like crying.  _ Sixteen years we have struggled because Rhaegar chose to love someone he was not supposed to. We were the victims of Rhaegar and Aerys. Elia and Rhaenys the most.  _ They all died so that Rhaegar could have his promised prince and now his offspring is no more. His line perished forever. _ Can you see all this, Rhaegar? Are you satisfied? Your precious child died and in his place we got a monster no better than you or your father who would sell his own sister to acquire an army.  _

"Do you swear to serve  _ Viserys _ of House Targaryen with your hand, heart and voice?" Viserys asked Arthur, gaining her attention. Ashara realised he was not asking to swear an oath of fealty to House Targaryen but to him alone.

Her brother then swore the knights oath of fealty in a fragile emotionless voice."I, Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning and a knight of the realm hereby swear on my faith that I will in the future be faithful to House Targaryen and King Viserys, never cause him harm and will observe my homage to him completely against all persons in good faith and without deceit."

Viserys took  _ Dawn _ in his hand, her family's ancestral sword. She knew he had never used a sword in earnest. He tapped on Arthur's shoulder and announced his acceptance in the Kingsguard. "Then rise Ser Arthur of House Dayne. The first kingsguard of King Viserys."

Viserys was drunk enough he didn't care that the knights oath of fealty was sworn during a solemn ceremony necessitating an act of homage not like that but be as it may, Arthur was now Kingsguard of Viserys.

  
  


Ashara met Arthur's eyes and there was nothing in those blue violet orbs. No happiness or sadness.

  
  


Viserys slammed his hand hard on the table and stood in front of Rhaella, "there you have it, muna" pointing to her brother he said, "Arthur is my Kingsguard now, just like he was my father's. Illyrio shall pay for betraying me. That pretender as well. You need not to do anything. Just sit and teach Dany your womanly arts. She would prove to be useful for me when the time is right.

"Arthur" the fool called her brother, "your grace" he replied,

"Bring me his head. That blackfyre boy. Also bring me my men. Ten thousand knights." the dimwitted commanded, his voice already heavy because of the wine consumed.

"Perhaps it would be better if Ser Arthur go to Myr with my grandson Nyestros" Lord Maegyr offered, "I can give twenty of my raiders for travel"

"Yes, Lord Molaquo. See it to that '' Viserys was nodding eagerly.

  
  


"If there's not much to bring on the table then I believe we should adjourn for now" Molaquo asked no one in particular.No one said anything.

  
  


That shrewd old man turned Viserys against Rhaella. How did things turn out like that in a whimp? It was not good. As she looked at the dowager queen, Ashara noticed Rhaella was glaring at the Triarch. She stood from her seat and left without saying any words. They followed her after a moment.

  
  


The square brick towers of Pentos were black silhouettes outlined against the midday sun. The streets of Pentos were pale alabaster when they set out in Illyrio’s elaborately carved litter. Two Unsullied of the Maegyrs went ahead to light their way, carrying ornate shields and spears, while a couple more strong men hoisted the poles to their shoulders. It was warm and close inside behind the curtains. 

The Queen sprawled out on her pillows beside her. She didn't speak a word. Her thoughts were somewhere else. Her brother was riding with Viserys. Front to the litter they were galloping their horses. Visenya stayed with her grandfather. Inside they were just two of them and no one talked to each other. Both lost on their own musings.

As they reached the mansion Ashara could smell the stench of Illyrio’s heavy perfumes even though he was not present. They were escorted across the entry hall inside the mansion. They stepped past the eunuch into a pillared courtyard overgrown in pale ivy. 

  
  


Inside the manse, the air was heavy with the scent of spices, pinchfire and sweet lemon and cinnamon. Illyrio’s servants entered, bowed, and set about their business. 

  
  


Ashara introduced her brother to the old woman and asked her to bath her brother. The old woman washed her brother's silver-blonde hair and gently combed out the snags, all in silence. The old woman, small and grey as a mouse, never said a word, but the girl made up for it. She was Illyrio’s favorite, a fair-haired, blue-eyed wench of sixteen who chattered constantly as she worked.  _ She would doubtless report Illyrio about today. _

Viserys that twit was taken to chambers by the servants to get some sleep.

Half an hour later Ashara introduced her brother to Daenerys. The princess was awed by the presence of Arthur. 

She grew saddened when she learnt her nephew was killed but judging by what Arthur was going through she didn't press the matter any further. Ashara was grateful for her insightful perception.

The princess instead began to ask countless questions about Westeros. Arthur talked a bit about Rhaegar, Starfall and Winterfell. Ashara quickly excused her brother asking for rest and promised Dany to tell the story for a later date to which the princess agreed. 

Later in the evening meal Rhaella didn't show up. The mood was uptight except for Nyestros who was shamelessly advancing towards Daenerys. Ashara silenced him by mentioning his grandsire was in the city and he should probably get going for the duty he was handed out. The boy sourly agreed to leave the next day.

  
  


A couple more hours later Ashara found herself sprawling in her wooden bed. She could not sleep after everything that occurred. 

_ People are always like isolated imbeciles, each absorbed in their own ploy. _ Ashara grimaced.  _ Triarch Molaquo exposed Varys' ploy to use Aegon Targaryen as son of Elia but who knows what he has planned for himself.  _

Aegon Targaryen. The boy who was not born at all in the first place. How ridiculous.  _ Elia looks like your boy who never existed has grown up.  _ Ashara thought sarcastically.

The moonlight made shades of the window pane overhung the floor. Flames of candles twisted and leapt in a breeze as they threw weird shadows across the room.

House Targaryen was truly doomed to extermination through the countless frenzied incest that prolonged for centuries. It was hopeless now.  _ Especially if that crazy Viserys is the head of the family. _

_ Let us save, at least, our honour, if we are doomed to lose everything else.  _ Ashara talked to herself.

  
  


Her trail of thoughts were interrupted by a knock on her door. It was nigh midnight. There could only be one person at this hour. 

Ashara crawled from her bed and picked a woolen cloak from the drawer. She was clothed in a light coat nightgown. 

  
  


As she opened the door, a gleam of a lantern flooded to her along the frosty wind.

A figure was standing across her with a lamp in hand. The cloak was unfastened, as she turned her head next moment Ashara felt her breath upon the back of her neck and the person standing opposite her was no other than Rhaella. 

Ashara nodded her head and beckoned the queen to approach inside her chamber. Rhaella placed herself in a chair adjoining the bed. Ashara poured a glass of water and handed it to her. 

Rhaella took the glass and emptied it. 

"What brings you here, your grace, at this hour?" asked Ashara, taking a seat at the bed.

"Daemon Targaryen, my grandson, is alive" Rhaella confessed blankly. Ashara blinked and raised her brows. 

Rhaella brought forth a piece of paper from her gown and pressed in her hands. Ashara rolled the paper and read the contents. She was confounded as she read the contents of the parchment. 

"If...if this is true…" She began but Rhaella cut her off,

"This is the truth. It was written by Tycho Nestoris himself, an emissary of the Iron Bank." Rhaella confirmed nodding. During their early stay in exile back in Braavos. Rhaella had contacted the Iron Bank of Braavos numerous times to request if they could gather a loan. One such time it was revealed Rhaegar had opened a vault there, converted from everyone, even his mother. The key to the vault as suspected was with Daemon.  _ Arthur never mentioned that. _

"He's been living as a sellsword, Ashara" Rhaella uttered in a broken voice. "Rhaegar's son. My only grandchild"

Ashara hugged Rhaella. "We should be happy that he is alive, Rhaella" 

"How could I? You tell me when everyone around me wants to kill him. If they learn about him being alive then… then" Her eyes flooded with tears. 

Ashara held her hand tightly. "Nothing would happen to him. I will tell Arthur. He will go…"

"No, don't tell him" Rhaella sharply rebuked shaking her head.

"Why not?"

"If you tell him I fear he might go to Braavos which would raise Molaquo Maegyr suspicions. That man confirmed us Daemon died but in truth my grandson lives. Earlier today he was blending lies within truth. We can not trust him." Rhaella breathed out.

" _ I failed Rhaegar. I failed Lya. I failed our father but most importantly I failed that boy, Ash. I could not save him. He died because I was blinded by my duty, no, by my revenge. I wanted to avenge Rhaegar. I never thought about Jon. I just told him he was Rhaegar's son and took him out of his home _ " Arthur had cried when he said those words earlier. 

_ If Arthur finds out the boy is alive he would leave for Braavos in a heartbeat.  _ That would only make Molaquo Maegyr come after the boy. Ashara wholeheartedly agreed with what Rhaella said.

"Which is why I want you to go to Braavos instead" Rhaella deadpanned. 

She looked at the queen with wide eyes.  _ She can not mean... _

"I know Ash this is hard for you. I feel terrible asking for this. You have just reunited with your brother after sixteen year but please hear me, I am begging you. The boy is already living with sellswords. The likes of Windblown" It was only then realization of horror dawned upon her.  _ Windblown. _ An army of savages. 

"If we let him be like that I fear I would lose him forever. For the first time in all these years I have found out about him. I ought not get him away this time" Rhaella pleaded to her raising her hands. Ashara was dumbfounded. On one hand finally after all these years she got her closest family member back and on the other hand Rhaella was asking her to go somewhere to meet a stranger who was amongst barbarians.  _ The boy might as well be one. _

  
  


Ashara considered for a minute. Her mind was numb. 

"Even if I go. How would you explain to others about my departure" Ashara tried hard to get out of the mess.

But Rhaella was already prepared for the answer, "I can say I ordered you to go to Dorne. To your home and to gather allies. Even if they do not believe me they would not get any hint where you disappeared" 

It seemed Ashara could really not say 'no' to the Queen. She remembered her father's words.  _ No buts Ashara we all have our duty.  _ Lord Dayne had said the day Ned Stark arrived at Starfall with her brother. 

_This is what you wanted, isn't it father? To serve House Targaryen loyally. Even if that means sacrificing your own personal happiness._ _Fine, I will honour your wish father._ _Seven knows Ashara Dayne is not a woman to cower away from her duty._

She clenched her fist and peered at the Queen Rhaella violet orbs. 

"If this is what you will, your grace" Ashara replied with a bitter tongue. Bowing her head making the queen realise that she was not pleased about it.

  
  


Rhaella acknowledged with sympathy "Take it" She gave her another scroll of parchment. "When you go to Braavos give this to Tycho. The Braavosi didn't send me the news about my grandson's arrival in Iron Bank out of goodwill. They want to know if House Targaryen supports Daemon's claim to the Iron throne or not" Rhaella clarified threading her fingers with hers.

Ashara raised her brows, "and you?"

"And yes I support his claim. I had my doubts but after experiencing Viserys was ready to sell Dany for words of strangers I no longer have hopes for him" Rhaella confessed lowering her eyes out of shame.

_ You are much to be blamed for you are a terrible parent Rhaella.  _ Ashara left the word unsaid.

"Dany what about her?" Ashara asked with worry lacing on her voice.

"I  _ will _ never let anything happen to my daughter." The queen raised her eyes and proclaimed, "I shall try my best to make Viserys understand and weaken Lord Molaquo's influence over him" 

Those words were a bit comforting if nothing else. She nodded.

Rhaella strolled from the chair and suggested before leaving, "you ought to leave before the break of dawn. I will provide you with the necessary coins after you are packed. Catch a merchant's galley at the bay of Pentos and depart for Braavos "

  
  


Ashara was left in her room dispersed.

  
  


_ Braavos it is then. _ She encouraged herself.  _ Seven protect me, Daemon Targaryen looks like we shall meet again. _

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 22 is out now. A lot of things to clear out of my chest. I was really divided to chose between Ashara or Rhaella's POV. In the end, I went with Ashara. 
> 
> Molaquo Maegyr and entirety of House Maegyr are OCs here. In canon, it is briefly mentioned about Molaquo Maegyr and Nyessos Vhassar as Triarch but nothing else. So I just wrote my own thing. TBH in the earlier times when I first began this fanfiction I happened to visit a page where the Maegyr family line was written. I mistook that for canon and somehow included in the story, only later I realised it was fanon. 
> 
> The first PoV of Molaquo was in 297 AC, just months after Jon escaped Red Temple. I am trying to make Molaquo one of the 'bad guy' iykwim. 
> 
> Remember the Qohorik wizard? Yeah he's still alive. Fret not, he won't be able to hatch that useless dragon egg.
> 
> So Arthur is alive yeah but sadly broken. I don't know why some of the readers asked whether Arthur was alive or not when I literally said he's alive in Ch-19 author note.
> 
> Benerero is one of the high priests who worked under Victorian Greyjoy in the fifth book ADWD. The book showed us he could really see future to an extent like Melissandre and yes the 'valuable ally' Molaquo mentioned was indeed Bennerro. Through him, the old man find out many things about Illyrio and Varys. I may include that in perhaps next Molaquo POV. 
> 
> Viserys is the new Azor Ahai. I bet you didn't see that one coming xD
> 
> I don't know why I wrote the scene between Molaquo and the serving wench. I just felt like writing. I do have some plans with that though.
> 
> I am having real trouble to include Dothraki in this fiction. I might as well leave them. If I go through show route it would only make one person too OP.
> 
> The hate cycle between R'hllor and Jon continues.
> 
> Visenya is a character that I am yet to make out. In my mind she is just like Cersei but yet to be flourished. Nyestros is a douchebag who wants to smash Dany real bad. Talk about lolicon xD
> 
> Magister Manolo/Monalo (I am too lazy to correct that) or whatever he is, in this story is just another Magister of Pentos who envies Illyrio and his power.
> 
> Something always bothered me why no one in Pentos was against Illyrio. It was said Illyrio never started off as the rich nobility in the first place. He became rich later on and married the sister of the Prince of Pentos and soon married another. He literally housed two of the most important person who were being hunted like animals and if he had any opposition he would have been finished if Robert willed but I guess that's where Varys powers comes in play.
> 
> In canon Jon Con and Young Griff were introduced in later part of the story but here due to plot demands I am speeding things up. Varys master plan is gone to dust now thanks to Molaquo and Bennerro now we have to wait and see who he picks up as his next pawn. 
> 
> The second POV is simultaneous with last chapter so Illyrio is between the narrow sea as of this chapter. 
> 
> There are a lot of things I couldn't convey in this chapter. I hope I will succeed in the future chapters. In the next one we will see Jon and Ashara.
> 
> Also I am really sorry I have not edited this one as well. I hate editing. To go through each word for word is bothersome. I however noticed that some of the words are really headache like 'us' and 'is', 'of' and 'if', 'ser' and 'see'. If there's mistake like those do kindly understand


	23. Unleashed the Bloodthirsty

* * *

* * *

The shivering sea extended in all directions, thousands of miles wide and stretched afar, it's icy surface crystal clear. Jon wondered how buried the sea was from the shimmering surface to the bottom. The chilling current emerged their galley up and down as Jon gazed at the tiny fishes and eels, and splashy belugas and dolphins. 

The sea was life itself. Jon came to understand why the seafarers would claim so. Lands were claimed by kings and lords. The air, claimed by the dragonlords but the sea, were claimed by none. The horizon of sea was so far and wide than any known land and far more valuable than boundaries of any ground. Jon understood that clearly in time.

He strode through the deck of _Black Dragon_ with confidence. A Braavosi war ship he'd renamed. The nasty gust of air slapped as his hair flowed with the breeze. Ahead two trading galleys loomed in the isles east of Braavos. Out of the ten galleys that swam in the Shivering Sea, eight of them were common Ibbense trading galleys. The last two however belonged to the pirates who ventured northwest to _Hardhome_ plunging through Storrold's Point abducting wildlings beyond the wall with the intent to sell them to the far east in the cities of Slaver's Bay.

It has been more than seven months since they came to the city of Braavos. Around roughly six moons since he began to hunt pirates around the Shivering sea owing to the contract made by the current Sealord of Braavos, _Ferrego Antaryon._

The overwhelming news of Lord Stark as the Hand of the king nearly ruined everything he'd come so far. The Tattered Prince was pressing him for answers. The Iron Bank of Braavos was delaying his promised gold. To make matters worse, the golden company was hired by the magisters of Pentos so he could not even invade the city to fulfill his promise made to the Tattered Prince. He couldn't sail to Westeros, nor could he travel to any other free cities.

To surface more misery, the Sealord of Braavos was asking for the payments to wage the tax as for the ships they had occupied in the Ragman’s Harbour. And that was to say nothing of the inconvenience he had in hiding _Bloodfyre._

As a last retort, he contacted Tycho Nestoris again and asked him to arrange a meeting with the Sealord. Through his connections the Iron Banker succeeded so Jon as a representative of Windblown had gone to the vast waterside palace to deal with Lord Ferrego Antaryon of House Antaryon.

  
  


Persuading the Sea Lord was one of the most intriguing things Jon ever accomplished. The man was a proud Braavosi who disliked anyone with dragon's blood.

"So you filthy Westerosi wanted to be introduced to me" Braavosi had remarked, sitting in his high chair covered by a soft blanket.

"I am honoured to make acquaintance of his lordship" 

The man had mocked him further, "Colour me surprised, have the dragons lost their sense of superiority. I know who you are, boy. Tycho would never bring some random individual inside my palace. So why are you here? Did you have no penny to even pay for docking your ships?"

Jon had chosen his words delicately. "If Tycho has truly, as his lordship insists, told about me then you may know what I am capable of"

The man had his hackles rise, "Are you threatening me boy? Braavos is no Myr or Tyrosh. I should have you flogged. The people with dragon's blood in their veins never learn from their mistakes it seems."

He'd gone half an hour without interruption rambling about the conflicts between Targaryens of old and Sea lords. How Septon Barth, by orders of Old King Jaehaerys I, had threatened Braavos with dragonfire should the eggs stolen and sold by Elissa Farman hatch (although Lord Antaryon denied of having any dragon eggs) and in return, how the Sealord had threatened to send the _Faceless Men_ to assassinate the Targaryens. He complained about the sanctimony displayed by the dragonlords and how unfair it was for them to forgive the Iron Throne's debts to the Iron Bank of Braavos.

  
  


After he was done ranting, Jon had calmly explained, "I have no association with Targaryens of old for I have never been one of their princelings. Let bygones be bygones. His lordship made a mistake in recognising my words. I know you are unwell and not oneself"

He had realised the Sealord was sick the moment he had laid his eyes upon the Braavosi. The pale skin, dark circles beneath the eyes, loose appetites and the way he tried to hide himself with a blanket had given it all away. 

  
  


_When he is dead, there will be a choosing, and the knives will come out._ That was the way of it in Braavos. In Westeros, a dead king was followed by his eldest son, but the Braavosi had no kings.

The man had been staggered when he heard him.

Jon had raised his hand in surrender quickly before the sea lord could have instructed his men to finish him. "Tormo Fregar"

Those two words had made the man pause.

_Tormo Fregar will be the new sealord_. Victor had told him, it was the talk at the Inn of the Green Eel. 

Tormo Fregar had been the main candidate to be the next sea lord. And judging by the reaction Jon had concluded the man didn't like the whispers.

"So that was what you meant when you said what you were capable of"

Jon had nodded enthusiastically.

"For how much?"

"I want no gold from you my lord. Only an alliance. In due time when all the important keyholders of Iron Bank are gathered I want your support" Jon had proposed to the Braavosi. 

Lord Antaryon had had taken a moment to consider and finally answered, "You fail then we had never met each other or else I shall make you rue the day you step foot in Braavos and provided that you are successful, not only I would support you in getting a loan from the bank but I will make you acquainted with some of esteemed ranking here in Braavos and have you a new contract for your company"

Jon had eagerly agreed to that and a week later Tormo Fregar lived no longer.

Lord Antaryon had never expected Jon to end the affair that quickly although the way he achieved would not make one proud from himself. 

Tormo Fregar owned a tavern at _Silty Town_ across the Long Canal in the lands of Zalynes. He would once a week pay a visit to his establishment. Jon realised reaching the man was not possible henceforth Jon had used one of the beggar children from temples on the _Isle of the Gods_ to poison the man making sure to clear any clues leading back to him.

It was sickening to know a father would let his own son beg for coins to acquire a bottle of wine. _Yet I used that boy all the same._ Jon thought regrettably. 

He had sent one of his men to the _Cattery_ where the drunkard man and his son lived. Jon had his man offer the rum-pot of a father a pouch full of silver coins for the services of the boy for a day. The drunken fool had leaped over the coins blindly without even so as to ask questions about the services. No regard for his son. And, once the service was over, the next day the sailors of Ragman Harbour found the corpses of father and son drowning in the lagoon. Murmurs and whispers were heard but such a thing was common in place like Ragman Harbour; poorer and rougher port by all accounts. The father was also ill-famed to be the owner of debts from various tarvens and wineskins from the _Outcast Inn_ to the _Happy Port_. So most people assumed one of the innkeepers had the man murdered for not paying the debts.

It was only after that experience Jon realised how falsified Braavos was.

_Because they had risked their lives in the name of freedom, the mothers and fathers of the new city vowed that no man, woman, or child in Braavos should ever be a slave, a thrall, or a bondsman_. Captain Qos had told him. This was the First Law of Braavos, engraved in stone on the arch that spans the Long Canal. 

  
  


_Lies, all lies._ Jon thought furiously. _To earn coins children are being begged in the alleyways and ports, women are being persuaded to sell their body and men are being plodded like an oxen._

_'From that day to this, the Sealords of Braavos have opposed slavery in all its forms and have fought many a war against slavers and their allies'._ Captain Qos of the _Wind Witch_ had let him know.

_The Sealord himself cares not about anything but his seat._ In all honesty, Jon perceived Braavos was no different than Westeros in regards to the aristocracy. 

_They exist based on family's name, property, and inherited wealth._ The very fact that if you are not born with the right name or riches then you are not worthy of importance in their eyes infuriated Jon.

_If I were a bastard like I was led to believe then I would be the same like those porters and mummers, ropemakers and sail menders, taverners and bakers only just I would remain to the other side of the sea and in all likelihood be in the service of the Night's Watch carrying out the wishes of old grumpy men._

All that for the reason that you were not born with a noble name.

Jon for his part comprehended that nobility flourish in any place of the known world. It can not be abolished by any principal or power. He understood that well enough. _All the power can do is decree how it is to be imparted and who is to acquire it._

  
  


_Behind their appearance of a civilised city, the rich keyholders and noblemen held the power over the commoners. They give the idea of freedom and abolishment of slavery but in truth they are the biggest slavers._ Jon realised that with the Iron Bank of Braavos being the best example.

Despite all that, Jon was in no position to judge them for he was no different from them. Given Jon had tasted the beauty of that power and liked the hierarchical flavour.

As a favour for removing his competitor Lord Antaryon, as his might as the Sealord of Braavos, had gifted Jon two dozen of purple-hulled war galleys of Braavos built each in a day from its Arsenal. All the vessels were constructed following the same design, so that all the many parts were prepared in advance, and skilled shipbuilders worked upon different sections of the vessel simultaneously to hasten the labor.

Lord Antaryon commanded a fleet of warships and a mercantile fleet whose purple hulls and purple sails had become a common sight throughout the known world. After presenting Jon with dozens of war galleys the Sealord had instructed him to hunt the pirates around the coast of Braavos. Although Jon knew the contract was only made so that other factions would not be sceptical of relation between him and the Sealord. 

_Clever of him to_ _feign a contract,_ Jon considered. Not only the Sealord had provided them rewards for their work and could back Jon for the loans rightfully in the eyes of keyholders but also the inhabitants of Braavos would see this as their ruler talking action against slavery by hiring sellswords.

  
  


As Jon stood in the forecastle of the galley in front the obscure island in the northeast of Braavos mounted above the water. The sky turned peach with fragments of clouds streaming. It was past noon. A clump of stones and rubbles touched down on blocks beneath the sea. The two raiders' galleys feigned as trading ships were docked at the island. Their sallow canvas made them look like banners of a noble house. The wildlings were chained like animals. Their numbers as he was told by Lanster were roughly around three thousand which consisted mostly of women and children but a quarter of the group were men as well. 

The tide has been irregular as though whatever gods existed were in a foul mood. _Harsher days are coming_. Jon thought to himself.

Among the bones of the dead pirates in the galley, bags of silver, golden plates, and other coins were found, as also a considerable number of ropes, woolen cloaks, wolfskins, all the things people of the North carried. The belongings of the wildlings.

The _Black Dragon,_ anchored at the island, Jon left the galley to inspect the wildlings below. He had instructed half of his men, out of two thousand he'd taken, to look after the hostages and had rented the remaining half to sail for another day to look for more raiders.

The wildlings were pushed to the grounds with chains around their ankles. They were being walked with swords and spears at their backs, moving around to gather. The little children were crying and women were cursing and swearing at every word. The men, though small in number, looked ready to fight.

_They could not save themselves from a couple hundred corsairs. What makes them even think they could actually resist us?_ Jon was astounded by their stupidity. _Their only hope to escape is the water_ . _I wouldn't mind seeing them swam._ What a scene that would be. Jon imagined, amused.

  
  


The members of Windblown were clad in full suits of armour, their breastplate gleamed in the settling sun. They were formed in a line across the rocky steps. Short spears and javelins in their hands, archers at the sides with their Myrish bows ready to pierce anybody upon his order.

"We are going to be sold, are we not?" A voice belonging to a woman asked.

Jon halted abruptly and inspected the woman. She stood unyieldingly in her sheepskin boots and fur-lined gloves despite his men trying to lay her down on her knees. Jon gestured to his men to let her speak her mind. The man bowed respectfully and compiled. Blonde of hair and blue eyes, the woman was comley and from what he could see the way she had her hands crossed over her belly he guessed she was with a child. 

"Dalla" A dark hair young boy shouted, "don't go near the kneelers"

"We are going to be sold?" The blonde repeated, 

_Sold?_ What made them think they were of any value. He took a trip down the memory lane and remembered how he'd fought the wildlings back in Bear Islands with the she-bears. Savage, brutal and barbarians. Those were the words he would describe about a wildling. 

But now as he observed the people in the island bound by ropes and confined they looked less barbarians and more weasels.

"You don't think I just might kill you all instead?" Jon inquired the woman named Dalla raising his brows,

The woman smiled through her crooked teeth, "We, the people of free folk _,_ don't fear death for we live in the lands of winter"

_Free folk._ Jon liked the sound of it. 

He moved near the woman, "Free folk, huh? Is that how you wildlings style yourself?"

"Don't get close to her, ya kneeler" the dark haired boy again yelled,

_Kneeler._ He said that twice now. 

Dick Straw silenced him with a boot to his chest. "This one cries too much. My ear hurts. Might as well kill him" 

He brought forth his mighty axe.

"Please, don't do him any harm. He's just concerned about me" the woman pleaded to him.

"Is he your lover or something? The father of your unborn baby" Jon questioned pointing at her belly.

The woman gasped and quickly covered her belly with her woolen cloak. "No Jarl is my sister's …" She left the word unsaid.

  
  


"So a good brother, I see" Jon stalked toward the boy. His legs were bound by ropes and he was down on both knees, held by two of his men on each shoulder. "I am not a kneeler. Get your sense right and take a look where you are and look at me" Jon said before kicking the boy on the jaw "I am the one who makes others kneel, boy. Best learn that if you wish to live longer"

  
  


Jon turned his head and saw a little girl in roughspun wool clutching to her mother's coat.

He made his way toward the little girl and knelt, "What is your name?"

The little girl looked at mother. The mother was filthy as was her daughter, with sands all over her hair and mouth. Tears threatening her eyes.

"Shina" the little girl muttered,

"Are you hungry?" The girl didn't reply.

"She is a child of six. She don't know the common tongue" the blonde woman called out,

Jon noticed the woman Dalla was not fazed by his presence unlike the girl's mother.

He gestured his hand to his mouth asking if she wanted to eat food. The girl nodded her head breathlessly.

Jon stood and observed the wildlings. Hate and hunger coiled in their belly. He could smell it. They were all starving. Men and women with babe in arms, fleeing from defeat to death. Gaunt and hard and hungry. _They would have perished soon anyway elsewise the pirates would have made their fate worse than death. In any case, they were caged to die from exposure or starvation. If I let them be it would be mercy_. 

But as he reconsidered for a moment he thought otherwise.

"Lanster" He called the blonde boy, "are they not fed?"

"No your excellency" the sellsword archer denied.

Assuming they were taken from beyond the wall Jon didn't think the pirates would feed them constantly. Lanster also had reported more than a dozen were dead in the galley itself. They must be famished.

"Do we have rations sufficient to provide them all?" He asked the archer, giving the girl his waterskin to drink.

  
  


"We have, your eminence, but if we spend our fare here then we won't be able to carry out sailing further" 

The girl sucked water out of the bag.

"It matters not. See it that they are fed by evening" Jon ordered the Westerosi.

His direwolf came out on the field and presented himself. It appeared Ghost was also sick of the water.

The wildlings were gaping the creature found beyond the wall in disbelief. Jon smirked at their reactions.

"How is a direwolf so far away across the sea" the blonde wondered,

"That is my direwolf. I have the blood of First men, same as you"

The woman looked like she was about to ask further but nodded her head instead. Accepting the answer.

"Are we going to be sold?" She again repeated the same question looking out at his men and her people. _She fears for her people._ _Admirable_ , Jon thought. He guessed she must be some kind of their leader.

"Do you want to?" Jon insisted. The woman shook her head. "Then you won't" He confirmed in a gruff voice,

Relief was palpable on her face but Jon continued, "however I also won't return you home. I have other things to attend than to carry back home some _free folk_."

The women didn't say anything else. 

A moment later she introduced herself, "I am Dalla of free folk" 

Jon nodded, "Daemon of Windblown"

Jon again inspected the wildlings. It was clear to him they had resisted the pirates the best they could. However, bones and woods were no match for steel. He recalled in Bear Islands how the wildlings fought. They were ferocious for sure but they lacked steel. A group of hundred knights with their shield and spears would wreck and shatter thousands of the wildlings. Jon imagined such was the case with the pirates. 

Their wounds, bruises and slashes were visible. If not attended any sooner they would die in days or so. _Old Maester Luwin of Winterfell used to say in battle if wounds are not tended then in no time injured turns into dead._

Jon asked his men to mend the injures. He always carried a dozen of healers with him on a voyage, be it the acolytes of the _Temple of the Moonsingers_ or old retired healers from _Prestayns_. 

A couple of his men arrived from the galleys with bearing rags, buckets, pouches and toolboxes. They bowed to him as they passed. Soon the other soldiers began to set a camp with colorful tents.

The wildlings watched them, mute. It was all foreign to them.

  
  


To the other side, Dick Straw and Ginger Jack were shouting at the bakers to carry the store of mead and hoarded food supplies with all possible haste. 

The healers and acolytes waited for the wildlings to approach them. They were hesitant and didn't trust his men. Dalla led the way. A small group of wildlings moved following Dalla. 

  
  


"I told you all" some woman shouted. An old root, warty, windburnt, and wrinkled woman wrapped up in a bearskin cloak so large it might well have fit Dick Straw. "I told you all, did I not?"

"Who is she?" Jon asked Dalla, curious. "and what did she tell the others?"

"A spearwife. Mother Mole. Many call her woods witch," Dalla replied. From the way she answered, she was not fond of the old woman. "She'd prophesied the free folk would find salvation where once they found damnation" Jon snorted hearing that.

  
  
  


“I had told you we must seek the sea,” cried Mother Mole, "I told you all the sea was grey and cold and far away but if we find the sea we shall have our salvation. The omen on the sky was leading us to our destiny"

  
  


Speaking of omen on the sky, his dragon was still freely soaring in the azure for moons now above the Shivering Sea. _Now the Ibbense sailors can claim they saw a dragon above the sea._

  
  


The old woman went on, "I had the vision. Few believed me. Fewer joined me and now here we are"

  
  


"Thousands trusted her and went off with the woods witch. She claimed she had a vision of a fleet of ships coming to carry the free folk south and her followers turned east" Dalla distastefully informed him. 

"Yet you followed her all the same" Jon commented studying her reaction.

Dalla scowled, "I did not follow her. As opposed to that, I went to Hardhome to prevent her followers from committing such folly but I was too late. By the time we reached Hardhome the pirates were already upon them. What you see here is half of what remained."

Ghost appeared before them. Jon knelt taking out his gloves and scratched his companion behind the ears, rubbing his furs. "Didn't you free folks always dream to be south of the Wall?"

"Sometimes the short road is not the safest, Daemon of Windblown."

"Wisely spoken lady" Jon remarked, impressed. "but still half of the people who survived are finally free of the shackles of winter all thanks to the witch's sorcery" 

  
  


"I am no southron. We are free folk and you are a warg. A skin changer. Sorcery is in your blood like that witch's but to my understanding sorcery can be a double edged sword. They can heal you but they can also kill you"

Jon laughed. "It seems I misjudged you free folk greatly. You are no southron lady, aye. As for the double edge sword... my acolytes presently are healing your men but who knows what happens if your people misbehaved" 

Dalla didn't miss the intended threat.

"Look at our saviour" the Woods Witch cried in her croaked voice pointing at Jon. "He will save us. Not that turncloak _Mance_ " 

"You dare to disregard him, crazy woman" Dalla shouted, infuriated. _Interesting_.

The old woman ignored Dalla however. 

"The might of gods unto salvation is not our passion for god's, the passion the almighty exhibited toward us sinners by sending his own son to redeem us" the crazy woman declared. Loud and clear. 

  
  


Dick Straw roared with laughter, "Dragon boy, looks like your fanatic zealots are growing more in scores"

  
  


"We are _freed_ from the _white shadows_ . _The Cold Gods._ " The old woman cried, the others cheered with her in foreign tongues.

  
  


"What in the name of old gods is she ranting about and why are they all so relieved" Jon asked Dalla, befuddled.

  
  


" _The Others_ " Dalla replied, fearful. "The reason Mole and her followers wanted to escape was not because of the crows at the wall but something worse than them. Ice demons that cast no shadow. They are the reason why we free folks want to break free south of the wall."

  
  


Jon gazed at her in disbelief. In the blink of an eye his mind went somewhere else. The monstrous weirwood tree he'd dreamed beyond the wall where branches spread so far that four tumbledown stone houses nearby were loomed by its pale limbs and dark red leaves. The ilk of trees. Ash, oak trees, soldier pine, ironwood, chestnuts and broadleaf. He remembered the little girl carrying a torch saying _'Fire is always hungry, Daemon Targaryen'._ The frozen rivers and the white grass. The cold and barren lands. He remembered everything. _Winter and darkness_ . And….. and he remembered the pale shapes gliding through the forest. Tall, fair, slender, gaunt they were and looked hard as old bones. Their skin pale as the moonlight. Eyes deep inhumane blue. Swords of crystal so thin that looked non existent. _The White Walkers._

_My mind's playing tricks on me_ . Jon denied. _They are naught but dreams._

".... and the pirates ambushed, there had been thousands of the free folks struggling through the forest, hungry, frightened, fleeing the carnage that had descended on them at Hardhome. Some were on the verge of returning to the homes that they’d abandoned, others ran towards the forest, but most were lost, with no notion of where to go or what to do. They had followed her to escape from relentless enemies that brought cold and death only to fall into the jaws of monsters in their grey steel worse than black-cloaked crows." Dalla was going on with her story. Jon didn't remember half of it. His mind was numb in the wake of the nightmare.

He didn't even perceive when the woods witch had approached them.

  
  


The witch added, "Every day left more corpses by the trails. Some died of hunger, some of cold, some of sickness. The more corpses we leave the more the ice demons resurrect them onto _wights_. I have seen them in my dreams. Many were claimed by their companions when they were offered false promise to march south with Mance Rayder, _the_ _King-Beyond-the-Wall_."

_Mance Rayder. Why do I feel like I remember that name before?_ Jon wondered.

  
  


"Tis foolishness, witch" the dark haired boy spoke again, "Jarl's speaking to all of his fellow free folks. D'you truly believe this southron can save our people from the inevitable. Only Mance could. When he finds the _horn,_ that is. Don't listen to this witch"

The wildling boy may have berated the witch but he had also insulted Jon in front of his men. He didn't like that.

  
  


"Careful with your mouth. I have warned you twice. You are only alive because of my mercy. Be grateful. Open that filthy mouth of yours again and I shall show you the _gift of mercy_ " Jon warned the man. 

The wildling however was not to be cowed. He glared at Jon with dark hateful eyes.

"The old god's mercy and grace gives Jarl hope. For himself and his people. Jarl don't need ya mercy, kneeler. He ain't scared of cocoons like you. Fight Jarl like a man if ya have balls" The wildling spat. Ghost stirred beside Jon.

"Jarl. Be quiet. This is no time or place for you to show your bravado" Dalla chided the wildling but Jon had tolerated enough.

_Grace and mercy are never deserved._ He concluded, shaking his head. 

"Fine, you have insulted me enough even though I am the one who saved you and your people from those pirates. Even when it is me who helped your people to mend your wounds. I shall show you what an ungrateful piece of shit like you deserve. The free folks believe in strength or so I have heard. Show me your strength then" Jon challenged the fool. 

"My lord, Jarl is just being impulsive. He is not in his right mind. None of us are. After what we have been through" Dalla pleaded. This was the first time she'd addressed him as lord. _Desperate times call for desperate measures._

"Silence, woman" Jon rebuked. He genuinely liked her but she was getting on his way.

"You… you dare to shout at her" the boy tried to stand on his feet. Jon beckoned his man to let him be. He could sense Ghost gritting his fangs.

"Pick any weapon you wish" 

The boy took the sword from the nearest soldier and launched at him with a cry.

Even though his left arm was wrapped with a bloody ragged bandage the wildling did not back down from the fight. _Fool_ , Jon thought.

The wildling might have thought Jon was just a green boy who knew nothing about fighting and challenged him but he was under a misapprehension. 

Jon swiftly unsheathed his sword and obstructed the charge. He extended his sword arm and like a whirlwind before the wildling could even respond gashed the live steel with his Qohorik sword. Live steels were no match for his spell-forged and razor-sharp, nigh on indestructible blade. _A swordsman should be as good as his sword_. Jon recalled Arthur's lesson. 

  
  


The wildling gazed at the broken sword in disbelief. It may have been the wildling's trick to anger him and force him to fight but this was a trick Jon willingly fell. _This fool thinks he can defeat me and take over my men like that easily._

In a heartbeat, Jon pierced the young man's torso and ended his life. The fight ended just as quickly it began.

  
  


The wildlings gaped with horror struck faces. They could not believe a boy could kill their man that easily.

"Is there anyone else?" Jon shouted, daring anyone to come at him.

Two more fools rushed at him and Jon parried each of their blows and drove his sword onto their flesh finishing their lives as well.

Jon studied the free folks before him. Their appalled eyes were apparent to him. Now was his chance to make a piece of good fortune.

"I see all of you; men, women and children of free folk. Abducted from your home and fearful for your lives. I don't know from what you all have escaped nor do I care but know this, I am not burdening myself with any of you unless you agree to join me," the wildlings began to mutter among themselves, glancing at each other. 

"I shall not ask you to kneel before me but I will ask your complete subordination. I will not force your will but if you dare to resist me you have seen three bodies laid before you,

  
  


"You all are free to choose. Free to accept mercy and grace while it is offered to you; now is the accepted time, now is the time of your _salvation_ ; will you accept it now that it is offered unto you?" Jon asked them. _This is too much of an opportunity to resist. Free folk, eh?_

Mother Mole shouted, raising her hand. Her followers proceeded to do the same. He glanced at Dalla and saw she was completely silent with a look of indifference shadowing across her features. Jon was the follower of old gods of the North. He'd knelt before the fiery heart tree of Winterfell and held the firm belief that when gods save a man they are breathing new life into his heart and soul. They turned him into a new creature, and the testimony was in front of him. _They shall live like a new creature and they shall confess before me._

Hours later heavy seas washed the deck, and kept out the galley fires, so that warm food had not been procurable. He sat in a large stone, a bit far away from the feast, easy to ignore. He gazed at the enormous fire pits that cast an orange light upon the air, making them all warm in their skin as the wildings danced with the members of Windblown, something Jon never thought he'd see. They drank and yelled, and sang and clapped. Children jumping and shouting, tearing the meat. There were more fires than Jon would bother to count, at the least hundreds of cook fires, a river of flickering lights amongst carts and sleds along the banks of the unnamed Isle.

  
  


Dick Straw as usual was the loudest. Jon saw Ghost turn his head at the ear shattering laughter. Jon was momentarily at loss of words when he saw a wildling woman in the sellswords lap. 

Dalla joined him and sat beside him gazing at the people of Windblown and free folk together.

"The people beyond the walls appear to be experts in music" Jon complimented as he watched the wildling named Lenyl drumming the platter with a bone making a rhythm out of blue.

"That they are" Dalla agreed, "my husband is a great singer. He would oft sing _Bael the Bard_ " 

"I assume your husband is Mance Rayder, the King-beyond-the-wall" 

Dalla was silent for a moment before confirming, "Aye, Mance Rayder is my husband. I guess I can not hide from you."

"It was not hard to guess. You gave this impression to me that you are their leader and the way you got possessive over this Mance" He explained. "So you are like a royalty. Should I call you your grace now?" Jon teased her, well aware what her response would be.

"We free folk don't uphold such blasphemies. I am Dalla to most." She replied, passionately.

Jon cracked a smile. "So I believe. Now that I think about your royal husband I remember the name Mance Rayder. Was he not a brother of Night's Watch previously?"

Jon recalled the slender, middling height, sharp faced, with close brown eyes and long brown haired man.

She was surprised by his admission. "Mance was a crow when you were no bigger than the babe in my belly, Daemon"

"I remember him. I was just a boy, and he was all in black, one of the dozen riding escorts to good ol' Lord Commander Qorgyle when he came down to see my fa… Lord Stark at Winterfell" Dalla didn't miss how he nearly called Lord Stark his father.

"So you know Mance?" 

"He had come across me and Robb" Jon nodded, "It had snowed that night before and the two of us had built a great mountain above the gate and were watching for someone likely to pass underneath" Jon laughed fondly at the memory. "He swore not to tell anyone"

She had a warm smile, despite her crooked teeth.

  
  


"We had dumped the snow on Fat Tom. He was Lord Stark's slowest guardsmen. Tom had chased us around the yard afterward, until all three of us were red as autumn apples" Jon said grinning.

"Mance never told me this story before"

"I guess he kept the vow not to tell anyone. That one, at least" Hearing him Dalla scowled. Jon pressed on, "Tell me something, Dalla. Why did Mance desert the Night's Watch? For you? Or, for a crown?"

  
  


Dalla didn't speak for a moment. Jon stared at her anticipatedly. "For this," She said, gesturing to his black cloak.

"A cloak?" Jon asked, confused.

“This cloak of yours is similar to the black woolen cloak of a Sworn Brother of the Night’s Watch,” said Dalla.

  
  


Jon stared at her to continue the tale.

  
  


“One day on a ranging Mance and his brothers brought down a fine big elk. They were skinning it when the smell of blood drew a shadow-cat out of its lair. Mance drove it off, but not before it shredded his cloak to ribbons. It shredded his arm and back as well, and he bled worse than the elk. His brothers feared he might die before they got him back to a Maester at the Shadow Tower, so they carried him to a wildling village where they knew an old wisewoman did some healing. She was dead, as it happened, but her daughter saw to him. Cleaned his wounds, sewed him up, and fed him porridge and potions until Mance was strong enough to ride again. And she sewed up the rents in his cloak as well, with some scarlet silk from Asshai that her grandmother had pulled from the wreck of a cog washed up on the Frozen Shore. It was the greatest treasure Mance claimed to have, and her gift to him.” Dalla chuckled, bitterly. “But at the Shadow Tower, he was given a new wool cloak from stores, black and black, and trimmed with black, not as magnificent as yours but similar, to go with his black breeches and black boots, his black doublet and black mail. The new cloak had no frays nor rips or tears . . . and most of all, no red. The men of the Night’s Watch dressed in black, a ser knight reminded him sternly, as if he had forgotten. They said his old cloak was fit for burning now."

Dalla had a sad look in her eyes. “Mance left the next morning . . . for a place where a kiss was not a crime, and a man could wear any cloak he chose.” 

Silence stretched between them. 

_So this is the story of the King-beyond-the-wall._

The same little wildling girl earlier the day had brought them two cripsed hen's leg pieces and offered them each. Jon peeled off his gloves and ate. 

"And what brought him a crown over his head?" Jon asked, sucking the piece of meat.

Dalla finished her piece and tossed aside the bones, "you tell me, why"

Jon guessed, "that mythical story of yours. The Others. He used their fears and brought them together " The wood witch had made her opinion clear about Mance Rayder. Jon was still in denial that some ice demons of Old Nan's tale existed beyond the wall.

Dalla didn't try to correct him. "Aye, he'd defeated various free folk clan leaders in a fight. Styr, Magnar of Thenns. Rattleshirt, Lord o Bones. And, Tormund Gianstabane, Tall-talker, Horn-blower, and Breaker of Ice." She smiled, "Also known as Tormund Thunderfist, Husband to Bears, the Mead-king of Ruddy Hall, Speaker to Gods and Father of Hosts.”

Jon was left speechless. At his shocked reaction, Dalla giggled. "That's everyone's face when they hear about Tormund"

_Who in the seven hells styles themselves with such ridiculous names?_

Gathering his wits Jon commented, "So they are the court of King-beyond-the-Wall"

Dalla laughed, "you can say. That and my sister Val. And Jarl was as well"

"You must resent me after I kill him?" 

"I do" Dalla nodded, "but I also understand the situation you were in. Mance is the same as you. He says a king should listen to everyone but those who oppose the king in front of his men should be punished." _King._ That sounded so foreign now.

"Wise words my lady" Jon teased the woman, 

Dalla rolled her eyes and said playfully, "I am not a lady, or you are a maiden. My sister would have boiled your bones" _I am son of fire._ The high priest Bennerro had said. _Pity, I had to kill him._ Jon thought sarcastically.

"I doubt not. She might try to kill me to avenge her lover" Jon bantered, "on second thoughts I wouldn't mind if she's as pretty as you are"

Dalla blushed, "oh, are you not a charmer. Personally, Val would have liked you. You are a kind man and a fine sword" 

_Kind man?_ This was the first time somebody had ever said he was kind. A wretched lustful bastard all he ever was to the most. People may not have said in front of his face but their eyes had never lied to him.

"Although you look too feminine for her taste" Dalla added grinning,

"Harsh, my lady" Jon feigned, hurt. "But be careful I might steal her someday like my friend over there" Jon pointed at Dick Straw who was holding a dark haired woman with a thick waist and enormous breast.

"Frenya is a spearwife but she's just as wild as the north" Dalla responded fondly,

Some freefolk men were red-faced already with wine, the Braavosi vintage was too much for them, their stomachs proving to be inferior. Ginger Jack was pouring more wine to a short homely man Jon came to know as Long Ryk. The people of free folk have an odd sense of humour in naming themselves. The same could be said of Windblown as well. _Wildlings and Windblown._ Jon thought, amused.

"Dalla" Jon called her out, "you said you went to Hardhome to prevent some of your people from traveling east." She nodded. "Why did Mance allow you, seeing as you are expecting his child," Jon was interested as to why Mance would allow his woman who was carrying his heir to go somewhere else. By now Jon came to know free folk women were no blushing maidens but still something in his guts told him Dalla was hiding something.

"He would have never allowed me. I went on my own" Dalla replied with sadness lacing in her tone. "A moon turn after Mance left us"

  
  


"Left to gather more clan?"

  
  


Dalla shook her head, "Left to Winterfell when the kneeler King Robert came to make Stark Hand or so Mance told me” 

Again he was grimly reminded of the unavoidable fate. Jon’s eyes widened in disbelief. “That can’t be so.”

“It was. When your Stark" Dalla gave him a sharp look meaning she knows there is some kind of relationship between him and Lord Stark, "learned the king was coming, he sent word to his brother Benjen on the Wall, so he might come down for the feast. Benjen Stark, the First Ranger, is a well known name among us. Bane of our existence." Jon faintly smiled as he heard his uncle's name which didn't go amiss by Dalla "There is more commerce between the black brothers and the free folk than you know, and soon enough word came to Mance ears as well. Mance believed it was too much of a chance to resist. Ben Stark did not know Mance by sight, so Mance had no fear from that quarter, and he did not think the other Stark was likely to remember a young crow he’d met briefly years before. Mance wanted to see this Robert with his own eyes, king to king, and get the measure of your Benjen Stark as well. So Mance saddled his fleetest horse, and rode.”

  
  


“But,” Jon objected, “the Wall . . .”

  
  


“The Wall can stop an army, but not a man alone. Mance took a lute and a bag of silver, scaled the ice near Long Barrow. Mance envisioned he would meet the southron king on the way and hoped to fall in with his company. He said a southron king would scarce ride alone. A lot of company and a lot more time. Freeriders and hedge knights are always attaching themselves to royal processions, in hopes of finding service with the king, and Mance was sure his lute would gain him easy acceptance" 

Jon was astounded. _That man truly has balls of steel._ _Small wonder the free folk chose him as their King._

  
  


"It feels like ages now last I have seen Mance" Dalla sighed, "and I don't even know if this child will ever see his father"

Jon felt sympathy toward her. He knows what it's like to have no parents.

He felt like giving solace to Dalla but suddenly he latched on to her words. _Left to Winterfell when the kneeler King Robert came to make Stark Hand_. Jon reflected how long he had known Lord Stark was the Hand. Six months already. "How long has it been the pirates abducted you?"

"Why, four moons," Dalla replied shrugging. He could not wrap his mind around. She was not making sense.

"So Mance left for Winterfell five moon turns ago?"

"Around five, yes" Dalla nodded,

_If I were to believe her words in that case five moons ago Mance left to join King Robert's party mid way implying that Robert had not even reached Winterfell by that time and I was already filled in Lord Stark was the Hand of the King two months before Mance even departed._ _The Tattered Prince claimed previous hand died out of illness and Robert named Lord Stark as his new hand._

Jon summarised it would take at least more than two fortnights, assuming the voyage was plain sailing, to even get to Braavos from King's Landing _._

  
  


Jon was left dazed and confused. _Was Dalla wrong or had Tattered Prince lied to him._ "Do you know what turn it is?" He asked her to confirm,

  
  


Dalla looked bewildered "if I am not wrong then in one and half moon turns it is the time point of a new year for you southrons."

_She's telling the truth_. In one and half months it would be the 299 year of Aegon's Conquest. 

  
  


How could the Tattered Prince know about Lord Stark's appointment as Hand of the King so ahead of time? When Jon had asked the old rag how did he know the man had dodged the question insisting it was the talk of the _merchants_. Jon chastised himself for taking that man's words for granted.

  
  


_Could the Pentoshi have underlying motives?_ He thought, warily. _No,_ the old rag was not playing a game with him. Jon was doubtless. The leader of Windblown was ambitious but his ambition stretched only to Pentos. He wanted the city over a dragon in the first place.

_Moreover, he knows nothing about Westeros._ Jon recited. _That man believed my word that someone like Lord Stark would honour my agreement to pathetic sellswords like them and would wage a war for my cause._ It was clear to Jon somebody else was feeding the Tattered Prince. 

  
  


"You sure brood a lot" Dalla commented, intruding on his trail of thoughts.

  
  


Jon turned his head and saw it was getting late. The hour of darkness was emerging along with the stars glimmering in the sky. Women carried their children from the feasts to the awaiting tents. They had made camp in a shallow stone bowl, huddling close to the fire.

"This Stark and you are related, aren't you?" Dalla asked him,

_Were, not_ _are._ Jon pondered, dejectedly. Lord Stark arranging a marriage between the Crown Prince and Sansa put an end to any relationship they had previously. Or so he reminded himself.

  
  


Jon preferred not to reply to her question. "At morrow we sail to Braavos into your new home for now" Jon primed her, aloof. "I can not give you word of honour that your unborn child would meet their father someday, but in the near future I am sailing back to my home and with that being said if it can be helped then I shall return you to your home"

Ghost had long ago departed to the galley. That wretched talking crow was not around all day. He stood and began to make his way toward _the_ _Black Dragon_ without waiting for her response.

  
  


Two days later Jon woke before the sun came up, in the quarter below the rim that he shared with Brusco’s daughters. Talea and Brea. Jon could feel the soft sounds of their breath. Their soft breasts stirring on his chest. He was naked as name day and the warmness emitting from the bodies made Jon drowsy. When he whisked, sitting up and fumbling for his boots, Brea muttered a sleepy complaint and rolled over. The chill off the grey stone walls gave him shivers. Jon dressed quickly in the darkness. 

As he was slipping his tunic over his head, Talea opened her eyes and called out. "You are leaving already, m'lord?" Jon felt not to answer, "Would m'lord be sweet and bring my clothes for me.” The girl requested. She was a gawky girl, all skin and bones and elbows, always complaining she was cold.

Jon fetched her clothes for her, and shoved at her face. Brea, the older of the two, muttered sleepy threats as Talea giggled and squirmed into them underneath the blankets. Jon washed his face with the water on the basin.

By the time Jon climbed down the stairs from the room beneath the rim, Brusco and his sons were out in the boat on the little canal behind the houses. Brusco barked at the girls inside to hurry, as he did every morning. 

Last night they arrived back at Braavos and anchored at Ragman Harbour but because he had some matters to discuss with the Braavosi fishmonger Jon had immediately left for his place northeast of the _Bloody Bridge_.

It was already night so the free folks had nowhere else to be placed but the ships.

Brusco, one of the natives of the _fish market_. Victor had introduced him to the man. The merchant was as grudging with his words as with his coins…. and Jon was not short for the coins. 

The loots Windblown had gathered from Myr and Tyrosh were little short of a miracle. All the wealth from Myrish bankers and Tyroshi cartels made the Windblown rich beyond their expectations in addition to all the riches the Lysene gave them and the prominence Windblown was showered with.

  
  


The spirits of Windblown were high. The esteem of Jon amongst the men was unbeatable. They were singing his praises and flooding him with admiration, and would do anything he told. Jon likewise used that to his benefit.

  
  


Brusco was a shrewd merchant and a fishmonger. Together with him and Dick Straw, Jon hired as many men into the company as he could using the golds the Windblown had. For Dick Straw who has the exposure to lead a mercenary group and Brusco who knows the ins and outs of Braavos together both of them recruiting people with good expertise and prowess was as easy as taking a swig of a rum. It was the best suited role for them. Call him crazy, but after everything he endured Jon for the most part saw people as a pieces of _Cyvasse._ Working with Brusco, he'd purchased many homeless beggars of Braavos. Although the city claimed there were no any slaves but living amongst them Jon realised it was all a lie. Amidst the content livelihood of people with their love for songs and music, there were many slavery thriving in the dark. Braavos was a city made for secrets, a city of fogs and masks and whispers. Its very existence had been a secret for a century, Jon had come to learn; even its location had been hidden thrice that long. City forged by mongrel folks, the sons of slaves and whores and thieves. Their forebears came from half a hundred lands to this place of refuge, to escape the dragonlords who had enslaved them. 

The Braavosi were fond of saying _Valar morghulis_ and _Valar dohaeris_ meaning _'All men must die'_ and _'All men must serve_ '.

And, Jon wholeheartedly agreed. 

_They will serve me and they will die for me as I see fit._

Herring sellers and cod wives, oystermen, clam diggers, stewards, cooks, smallwives, and sailors off the galleys Brusco knew all sort of people in Braavos. Jon bought them all without any consent. Some for swords, some for fare, some as woodsmen, some for healing his men. Many were retired guardsmen and cooks and carpenters. Some were even thieves left to rot by their masters. 

  
  


Jon reckoned this was the downside of cities like Braavos. While in Westeros if you rank high even as commoner one could be a landed knight to some lordlings. It won't earn them a penny but it would keep them clothed, fed and roof over their head for the rest of their lives. Ser Rodrick of Winterfell was one such specimen. But in a city like Braavos where food and clothing were expensive and if you don't earn, the only solution was to beg, steal and murder. Jon saw that as a window of opportunity and hired them into the ranks. 

It was not the end however, using the name of Windblown and through Tyra Rogare of Lys he'd hired many pleasure slaves from Lys in addition to stealing the ship from the sea robbers full of comely women from Lorath. In spite of the fact that he was hired to prevent the corsairs of Balisks Isle from smuggling, Jon on second thoughts used them to his own benefit. The demand for pillow houses was high in Braavos. Especially in the brothels of Happy Port. He could not let that slip away from his hands. Using the sex slaves steadily he'd robbed the gold of his own men first. It was a simple move. _The more gold they spend, the more they are indebted to you_. Although the veterans of Windblown were fully aware of the consequences of desertion displayed by the brutally of Tattered Prince all the years, the new members however weren't experienced to that. Henceforth, the best thing Jon could do was have them a taste of the fruit once and let them beg for it all their lives. He didn't feel an ounce of guilt for doing that. If he can be showered with praises and still earn gold then why not.

It was the only reason why he let the wildlings live. Not out of sympathy as they were detached and brought out of their homes but owing to the fact that there were three thousand pieces at his disposal. 

  
  


Braavos had taught Jon that only strong people are capable of freedom. Privilege to do anything and everything. _As the city becomes corrupt and violent, they have more needs for masters. And these masters are the ones who embed false ideas of freedom to the people only to chain them forever._

  
  


The day looked to be a rare one, crisp and clear and bright. Braavos only had three kinds of weather; fog was bad, rain was worse, and freezing rain was the worst. But every so often would come a morning when the dawn broke pink and blue and the air was sharp and salty. Jon preferred such days.

  
  


Casper, one of the company's men, was untying the ropes from the piling and shove the boat away from the dock with a booted foot. Braavos was a city built on mud and sand, where a man was scarce more than a few feet from the water. Some say the city has more canals than streets. That was an exaggeration, yet Jon could not deny that the swiftest way to move about the city was over water, in one of the myriad serpent boats that ply the canals, rather than by foot through the maze of streets, alleyways, and arched bridges. 

  
  
  


As Jon took on the boat passing, pools and fountains were seen everywhere celebrating the city’s ties to the sea and the _wooden walls_ that defend her. The brackish waters of the lagoon that surrounds the _hundred_ _isles_ were the source of much of the city’s early wealth, yielding up oysters, eels, crabs, crawfish, clams, rays, and many sorts of fish. 

Yet Jon comprehended that the same waters that nourish and protect Braavos also imperil her, for it has become apparent to him that some of the city’s islands are sinking under the weight of the buildings that now cover them. The oldest part of the city, just north of the Ragman’s Harbor, has in fact already sunk, and is now known as the _Drowned Town_. Even so, there are still some Braavosi, of the poorest sort, who dwell in the towers and upper floors of its half-submerged buildings. All the people Jon through his tie-in obtained for his own needs. Most of the Windblown members in addition to the Braavosi he bought were settled there. Jon planned to move the free folks there as well.

Half an hour later he marched through the alleyway, passing through his men who bowed courteously. The bakers wives were busy gossiping among themselves. All haggling loudly with one another as they inspected the morning sun.

  
  


Almost the first thing Jon had done as the leader of the company was institute daily archery drills for the entire garrison, even stewards and cooks. The company had been placing too much emphasis on the sword and too little on the bow.

  
  


No sooner he exited the boat, Kev, one of his commanders of the former Company of Cats approached him. "Your eminence" the sellsword called out. Kev was a middle aged man with dark curly hair. His parents were Westerosi. "The Iron Bank of Braavos had sent an envoy. They request your earnest present"

  
  


Jon was told the Anniversary of the Uncloaking was celebrated every year in Braavos with ten days of feasting and masked revelry—a festival like none other in all the known world, culminating at midnight on the tenth day, when the Titan roars and tens of thousands of revelers and celebrants remove their masks as one. It was the time where all the magistrates, archons and keyholders of Braavos would gather and where Jon would put forth his proposal. There was still a week due for the occasion however. Jon wondered about the urgency. Tycho had never bothered to look for him before.

He nodded his head and asked Casper again to arrange a cog for him. Two more hours later Jon made his way to the Iron Banks passing through the _Palace of Truth._

The cobbled stone street that ran beneath the ivory building of the Iron Banks. The time was nine in the morning by the Titan’s roar.

The Bank was filled with people of various ethnicities as usual. He ascended the steps and proceeded to march toward the hallway onto Tycho Nestoris cabin. Halfway across the corridor he was called by the same dull homely looking man and was requested to attend another cabin. Jon followed the man and went inside the chamber.

The room was vivid but empty save for a bench and chairs. Inside the area he spotted Tycho Nestoris with the familiar creepy grin across his face and an unknown woman in a blue garment and cloak 

Tycho stood from his chair and welcomed him inside. Jon had left his men back at the boat. "Welcome again your grace" Tycho greeted him, addressing the title in front of the unknown woman. "I would like to apologize to summon you urgently"

Jon brushed off the greetings with a motion of his hands and instead he gazed at the unidentified woman. She was black of hair and her eyes were violet. Vivid bluish violet. She was alluring by all accounts but something about the woman seemed familiar. He might have stared at her for longer than he should have as Tycho coughed to gain his attention.

"Your grace I am honoured to introduce you to Lady Ashara Dayne" _What in the seven hells…._

  
  


Jon snapped his head in the instant toward Braavosi. His gaze was filled with murderous intent. The anger for being betrayed by the person one believed in. It didn't help that the Banker appeared as barefaced as ever, smiling through his pale teeth. _Damn him._ Jon thought, frustrated with the man. Hatred toward Tycho was growing despite trying to restrain his feelings. _The Iron Bank should never be trusted._ He thought it was stupid of him from the beginning, for believing in the banker. _But right now, I can't make any reckless move against them._ Jon desperately reminded himself. _At least for now_...After all, the one who betrayed him was the employee of this Bank, the one who Jon needs the most right now.

"Well I believe you have matters of importance to put your heads together about. So I shall take my leave" The banker left quickly like an arrow from a bow.

  
  


Ashara glanced at the man whom she had only seen as a babe in years gone by. He sure fully fledged from an infant to a man. _A very feral looking man_ . His hair was blonde gold but Ashara recalled him having tuffs of light brown hair. She panicked for a moment if this was the same babe but then she beheld those exquisite purple eyes. It was unmistakably the same only it lacked the innocence of a newborn and was filled with the cold fury of an enraged man. He was dressed very commonly in black tunic, breeches and a doublet. _He looks like a man of the night's watch._ Yet, there was a weight to him, an aura of superiority and danger.

  
  


Stillness lingered in the room. Both of them uttering no words. Jon brushed his fingers at the hilt of his sword, glaring at the women in front of him. Ashara could no longer gaze at him and averted her eyes towards the table. The angry eyes, the nasty scar on his face, the quivering lips, and hands toying with the sword made her fearful. _Rhaegar's son or no, he is still a mercenary._

  
  
  


_Ashara Dayne,_ _sister of Arthur. The woman who I thought was my mother for most of my life._ Jon reflected. _Also the woman who invited us to Volantis_

"Why" Jon muttered in a low voice that he thought she might not have heard,

"Your grace" Ashara was not making eye contact with him. She was glancing at the table, her head slightly bowed.

"I. Said. Why? Are you here?" Jon asked threateningly, inching closer to the table and taking a seat near her.

"Her grace…. your grandmother. Queen Rhaella sent me here to talk to you" She answered, stiff. Clutching her thighs.

_The Iron Bank had betrayed my trust_ . Jon thought to himself, outraged. _They contacted the Targaryens despite me._

  
  


"For how long?" Jon asked, trying hard to cool his anger.

  
  


"A month ago, your grace. An agent from Iron Bank reached the dowager queen and she sent me here ….."

"To see if I was alive?" Jon cut her with venom in his tone.

Ashara nodded, slowly. _He distrusts us._ "She truly didn't believe Triarch Molaquo Maegyr when he confirmed you were indeed dead"

"Oh" Jon breathed, "so the Triarch was working for her all along" 

Jon was not surprised with that but instead he was surprised when she said they found out about him only a month ago.

Jon had counted the possibility that the Targaryens and the Volantise had been keeping tabs on him. Considering the annihilation of the free cities by the Windblown and the rumours of _Bloodfyre_ it wouldn't take to be a genius to find where he was. However he was nigh untouchable on Braavos. For Braavos hates Volantis and their people with all their hearts. Jon even thought about the prospect that it was them who fed Tattered Prince about the news of Lord Stark. It was highly possible given that they were hiding in Pentos surrounded by golden company and the Windblown were expecting to invade the city. But Lady Ashara claimed they knew about him through Tycho and only a month ago.

  
  


_This is bad. He thinks Molaquo and Rhaella are working together. There must have been something gone wrong between him and the Triarch._ "Most certainly, no. Triarch Molaquo works only for himself" Ashara denied.

Jon desperately wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe Arthur's own sister was not working with his killers. 

"If that's the case then why were you in Pentos when Arthur and I came to Volantis" Jon slammed his fist on the table. Ashara flinched at the sound. "Arthur died because of _you._ His blood is in your hands as much as it is on Molaquo's" His voice was overwhelmed with emotions, tears were on his eyes.

Ashara peered at him with wide eyes. "It was Lord Molaquo who tried to kill you?" _But it was Molaquo who housed and escorted Arthur, and Art confirmed it was Nyessos, didn't he?_

  
  


Jon looked at her stupidly. _Does she not have any wits?_ _Maegyr has a good reason to kill me and place Viserys in the Iron throne._

"But… Arthur was brought to us by Lord Molaquo himself. He said it was Nyessos…"

"What did you say?" Jon asked her in case he might have misheard.

"Arthur is alive, your grace" Ashara confirmed with a broken voice, "and it was Lord Molaquo who brought him to us in Pentos. A month ago. The day when I met my brother was the day Rhaella told me about you. She was afraid that if Arthur learnt you were in Braavos he would come to find you which would only alert Triarch Molaquo and Queen Rhaella trusts him not therefore she sent me with an parchment agreeing on her part that you are the rightful heir for the Iron throne not Viserys"

Jon was left stunned by her admission. 

_Arthur is alive._ He could hardly believe it. _But why didn't he tell them it was Molaquo who attacked us that day and why did he believe I was dead?_ Jon could never forget in his life the sigil of quartered dragon in black and white field. It was the sigil of House Maegyr. He had seen that on the black mantle of Molaquo Maegyr and the same one on the breastplate of the guards who attacked them at the Innkeeper house.

"Ar.. Arthur believed I was dead?" He asked her,

Ashara nodded with sadness mirroring in her violet eyes. _His voice sounds so fragile._ Ashara was convinced Daemon truly cared for her brother. 

"What …" Jon bowed hIs head to overcome his emotions and drew a sharp breath, "you were saying about Nyessos?" He rubbed the tears threatening to flow.

  
  
  


Ashara told him how the Volantise old blood claimed there was an attempted murder on Arthur when he was still unconscious but the assailant was captured and confessed it was by orders of Nyessos Vhassar and the man working with Pentoshi Illyrio Mopatis on whose house they were residing for past two years. 

"He's lying" 

"Huh?"

"It was _him_ who came searching for us, not Nyessos. It was _him_ who told us you were on Pentos, not Nyessos. It was _him,_ damnation, who sent his men after us, not Nyessos" Jon said gritting his teeth.

_Queen Rhaella regards me as the true heir to the Iron Throne. The Iron Banks wanted confirmation so she sent Lady Ashara here._ Jon considered. _That scum Molaquo. It was all his doing._

"If so then he lied flawlessly" Ashara said. Anger was apparent in her tone. "He mentioned that Illyrio's son through Lord Varys was hidden by Jon Connigton, friend of your sire" Arthur had told Jon about the man once or twice. As for the Varys everyone knows about the Master of Whispers. ``in the ranks of Golden Company. Varys and Illyrio were planning to pass the boy as Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar and Elia'' _What?_ Another claimant for the throne. "Arthur and Nyestros Maegyr'' She said the last name as though it were a curse, "even as we speak, are sailing to Myr to hire the Golden Company and reveal the schemes of Illyrio and Varys"

Jon rose from his chair, "are you implying the golden company are not in Pentos all this time?" 

  
  


Ashara glanced at him, bewildered. _Why is he so eager about the golden company?_ "No your grace. They never were. The golden company were hired by Myr after your… Windblown…" she was hesitant to speak about his company. _He's one of the sellswords._ Ashara had not forgotten that.

_The Golden Company were never in Pentos but Tattered Prince believed they were. Somebody didn't want us to be in Pentos. Molaquo,_ Jon was sure now but the question begs how did he know about Lord Stark.

Jon tried to clear everything in his mind till his mind grew numb. He grabbed her hand and peered straight onto her eyes. Purple on violet. "Tell me everything you know, truthfully" 

Ashara was momentarily at loss for words by his aggressiveness but nodded and started speaking.

She started from the day he was brought to Starfall as a babe by Arthur, Lord Stark and Lord Howland Reed. Their meeting with Lord Dayne and Lady Ashara's departure to Dragonstone and their early exile on Braavos. Queen Rhaella and Iron Bank. About Princess Daenerys and Prince Viserys and, then about Volantis and Maegyrs. The betrothal between Viserys and Visenya. She revealed they had departed to Pentos around the time she received the news of her father's demise and how she couldn't send any envoy on her behalf. She talked about the first meeting with Magister Monalo and Queen Rhaella sending the Lysene pirate Salladhor Saan as her envoy to Lord Velaryon. She carried on with the second meeting with the Pentoshi magistrate and Molaquo Maegyr, Arthur's appearance, Illyrio's disappearance, Viserys scheming to sell his own sister to Dothraki, the pact made by Jon Connigton and the Golden Company, Varys and his little birds, the talk between her and Rhaella.

Jon intently listened to her until she finished. "and I arrived here in Braavos two days ago agreeing Rhaella's request and contacted the Iron Bank."

Ashara glanced at him with anticipation, waiting for his response.

_You could never expect when you would face your enemy, only the dead are free from that._ Arthur had told him at _Shayala's Dance_ after they fought the corsairs. He had not forgotten the lesson.

Jon for his part shook his head and chuckled without humour. Ashara was dumbfounded at his expression.

_Viserys is unbelievably pathetic._ Willing to sell his own sister like that. He could not picture himself doing that to Arya …. or even Sansa for that matter. 

_And Rhaella…._ Jon was disappointed. She lost her son to Molaquo and Magister Illyrio, and now all the power slipped through her fingers and was laid on the feet of the Volantine. Jon reflected that dispatching Lady Ashara to Braavos was by far the best thing she ever accomplished _._

His chuckles turned into full blown laughter as he realised he was played like a fool. Ashara looking at Jon's face felt a cold shiver run down her spine. This was the laughter of a demon. Filled with malevolence and bitterness… and ambitions. Ambitions that could possibly ruin him or make him. _He laughs like Aerys._ Ashara contemplated, terrified. _No, he laughs worse than Aerys._ _Oh Rhaella, where have you sent me? This is Rhaegar's son?_

_Varys_ . Jon alarmed himself. It had to be him. _He is the one that played me like a fool._ Arthur back in _Cinnamon Wind_ had mentioned his grandsire _Aerys Targaryen_ had brought Varys from Pentos to be his spymaster. The knight happened to be so unease of the eunuch that he had only trusted to reveal Jon about his heritage in the deep crypts of Winterfell. He registered why Arthur was so disquiet on their entire journey from White Harbor to Sunspear. It was all because of Lord Varys. 

The premature news of Lord Stark being Hand of the King. _Only an insider of the King's circle could spread that quickly_ _and_ _he_ _is after all Robert's spymaster._

The fake news about Golden Company in Pentos to keep Windblown out of the territory. _So that Illyrio could sell Princess Daenerys to a horselord_.

The truth about House Maegyr reigning supreme over Volantis by forging an alliance with the red priests and lies in regards to Molaquo sailing toward Pentos. _Molaquo would not send a merchant to Tattered Prince and reveal his own game._

  
  


Jon wondered if so the eunuch knew he was a Targaryen then why did he not tell Robert Baratheon already. Suddenly Jon gathered the reality that fucking eunuch had the power to tore the realm apart. _He could literally reveal my existence and have Robert Baratheon smash Lord Stark's head with his monstrous warhammer. The north would rise in outrage. How wonderful that would be._ Jon was amused by the notion. 

He felt the urge to thank Molaquo Maegyr now as he saw the whole mess. His laughter turned into sweet giggles. _Finish that pretender, Arthur._ Jon entertained himself. _Finish him for me. Let the eunuch persuade Molaquo._

  
  


Jon noticed Lady Ashara looked unsettled by his snickers. He had to force himself to stop giggling like a child. "Oh.. O gods" Jon hitched, "A spider with a black dragon and a scum with a weak dragon" _Yet I am the only one with a real fire breathing dragon_.

  
  


"Your grace?" Ashara queried, uncertainty was perceptible on her facade. _Is this boy just as mad as his father, uncle and grandfather?_ But then again just in a short span of time he was told about the truth about his birth and left his home and in no time he must have felt like he lost the person close to him only to know the person survived and now serve his own uncle who also believes he is the rightful King. _The Targaryens are so disarrayed._ Ashara thought with resignation.

"Thank you Lady Ashara" He could not trust her but on second thoughts he could undeniably use her. "For coming here. I was in pain and disturbed all this time reflecting that my own family were striving to put an end to me" Jon flashed her one of his bewitching smiles. "You have my sincerest gratitude for clearing the cynicism and my misgivings, and a chance to reconcile with my family" She appeared flabbergasted, "I also always presumed you were my mother"

Ashara was red faced. "Your grace…" _I nearly forgot this boy always took me as his dead mother._ She was embarrassed.

"Daemon. You can call me Daemon. Don't your grace around me" Jon smiled. _He has a very sharp smile._ Ashara noted. "I told Arthur the same" Despite Arthur being alive, it still frustrated him learning that Ser Arthur was now his uncle's Kingsguard. _He's no king however,_ Jon mused, _no more than I am a princess._ "He was like my foster father even more so than Lord Stark. He was my confidant and counsellor. I pray to all the gods he is alright." Jon threaded a hand through his hair.

"He is well, your gra… Daemon. Although he looked different from the last I saw and it was years back." Her long black eyebrows waggled, "He is awfully guilty, blaming himself for your supposed death. I desperately wanted to put him at ease but knowing Arthur I understand where Rhaella is coming from" _I failed him, Ash._ Ashara clearly remembered his words. _If only you knew Arthur…._

"I am not thrilled to say this but _grandmother_ did the right thing" Jon nodded. "Anyways where is the parchment she sent that acclaim me as the rightful successor of Targaryen claimant to the Iron Throne?" That piece of paper was a godsend to him. 

"I have already handed it over to Lord Tycho Nestoris if it would be alright" Ashara said, studying Daemon. _He certainly is better than Viserys in mannerism…. that or he hides his feelings well._ Ashara was still unsure about him. 

  
  


_Tycho, that slick fox._ Jon cursed silently but still things were going good. _With that charter it must clarify any hesitance from their part and I should be a credible candidate for the loans._

  
  


"Why yes, it is impeccably alright" Jon smiled, "but Lady Ashara I would like to ask…"

"Just call me Ashara" She smiled at him kindly. It reminded him of Dalla. But her vivid violet eyes told a different story. 

"As you wish. Ashara, I would like to ask who did you come with?" Was there anyone else he should be aware of?

  
  


"Three guards entrusted by Rhaella for my safe arrival here" 

"Are they dependable?" 

"Very much so"

"Then I would like you to return them to Pentos" _What?_ "Before you throw in, let me offer you an invitation to accommodate my place as a guest" _His place amongst the mercenaries?_ "and no, you won't have to stay with the company. I have numerous stays here in Braavos" Daemon answered as if he could read her thoughts. Still Ashara could not grasp why her guards needed to be sent, "as to why I want those guards of yours gone is because of the reason I don't trust you fully and I believe neither do you so I need some form of vindication" again he read her like a book "I am still unaware about my family's residence in Pentos. Your guards however can send my message to grandmother and return her response. In this way, I believe we can trust each other. You can keep two of them if you want but I want one to go to Pentos and if not with yours then he can leave with my men" Daemon presented a hard choice. Ashara was inconvenienced. If she sent only one of her men then Daemon would perceive it as she didn't trust him and if she agreed to send all of her men then she would feel insecure.

He added, "But of course I can not ask you to return Pentos for I need you here in Braavos in the annual festival now that you are already involved"

_Now let's see what kind of woman she is._ Jon mused, absorbedly. He'd anticipated she would not let go of her guards like that but Jon could not let any bearings of his reach Pentos. He still didn't trust anyone of them. The guards must be removed. Jon has already processed what kind of message he wants to send. _If she let go only one of her men then naturally I have to send my own men as escorts provided that any message of such high significance can not be entrusted to a single man and if that happens I would surely know where my family and Maegyrs are and can easily finish them off by underhand methods. On the other hand if she sends all three of her men then I can have my men follow them and any news of mine would not be discerned. Either way she's not escaping me._

  
  


"No it's fine Daemon I perfectly understand you are only being cautious and by all means I was sent here by Rhaella to help _you_ to the best of my abilities. I shall send the guards whenever you _want_ " Lady Ashara replied calmly. _Fine by me._

  
  


Daemon stood from chair and stretched his hand, "A fine day, my lady. I trust we have some affairs to talk through with our mutual benefactor, don't you think?" Ashara accepted his hand. _The same hand which was on the hilt of the sword some time ago._

  
  
  
  


Few hours later Jon and Lady Ashara traveled together on a boat speaking minor things. Jon decided to 'confine' Lady Ashara in one of his establishments in the _Canal of Heros_ , south of _The Dome_ in the humbler parts of the city. The houses, shops, and warehouses crowded together, leaning on each other like drunken lovers, their upper stories so close that you could step from one balcony to the next. The houses were full of common inhabitants of Braavos still if one were to narrow down the people you would notice the lion's share of those 'inhabitants' amongst the householders were the men of Windblown. Jon had her stay there with full provision and promise to return the next day with his message to Queen Rhaella.

  
  


Three days later Jon found himself at the Tattered Prince's lodge at the owl light. The sunlight was below horizon. The old rag was staying at the Outcast Inn at Ragman's Harbour. Jon was urgently summoned.

  
  


This evening eventide, a very important guest of his was arriving so whatever the Tattered Prince had an inclination for needed to be cut short. Jon had his suspicions why his presence was demanded by the old rag. _The anniversary is just three days away. He will lay an ultimatum. 'Take me to the council of key holders or this would end badly for you' So distinctive…._

He made his way down the Ragman’s Road along the Outer Harbor, where he had the sea before him and the sky above, and a clear view across the Great Lagoon to the Arsenal and the piney slopes of Sellagoro’s Shield. 

He was accompanied by Dick Straw. Inside the room the old rag was sedentary in a chair across the hearth. A sheaf of parchments in one hand. His short silver grey hair was braided and his jaw clean shaven. He was dressed plainly, in dark doublet, brown mantle, and scuffed boots. Caggo was hovering at his shoulder. 

  
  


"So what is the matter of urgency, Lord Commander?" Jon asked the old man in a sincere borderline sarcastic tone taking a seat across the Tattered Prince.

  
  


"Zahrina, bring me the wine," Dick Straw called out. Zahrina the cook served each of them Braavosi red wine

  
  
  


"Lord Commander, eh? Fancy title. You have amassed a lot of troops I hear so new titles are not surprising" the Prince said taking a swig. "Come let's have a game"

  
  


Danzo D'haan and Dick Straw began engaging in their talk. Pretty Meris was cramming down the delicious spiny grubs. 

  
  


Jon took the white side this time and arranged his pieces. "Why, yes I believe it is better for the company. The more the merrier"

  
  


"So what title do you hold?" The Prince asked as Jon advanced his _Rabble_ and he answered with the same.

  
  


"You say what name I am entitled to?" Jon answered moving his _Spear_ challenging the Tattered Prince on and off board.

The old rag chose not to answer instead sipped his drink. He decided to remove Jon's _Spear_ with his _Rabble._ Jon in the meantime marched another _Spear_ forward opening the place for his _Trebuchet._

"Hmm, you are getting better at this game" the old rag complimented. He advanced another black _Rabble_ to defend his previous. 

"You said the same thing last time as well and need I remind you that you have now failed to defeat me three times" Jon arrogantly reminded him. _Common damn you, spill it out already._ This was the way of the Prince of Pentos. He never said anything bluntly. _He always has a way with his words._ Jon placed his _Heavy Horse_ there steps square up. 

"I can tell you are impatient" the Tattered Prince stated shifting his _Light Horse_ toward the _Mountain_ away from his _Heavy Horse._

Jon attacked with his opened _Trebuchet_ and removed the white _Light Horse_ from the board. _And, I can tell you are incompetent._ He didn't voice that.

  
  


Jon could not get any moment for being smug though, the Tattered Prince steadily took out his black _Trebuchet_ by marching the _Elephant._ _He made a wrong move._ Jon thought to himself. A _Mountain_ and two _Rabbles_ now surrounded the _Elephant. In two moves it would be removed from the board_. _He is desperate._ Jon realised _. Desperate and frustrated by me for outshining him in front of his men_. _And his feelings are shown on the board even if his face hides it._

  
  


Jon smiled, sipping his drink, "So his lordship called me urgently just to play a game with me only to lose?" He took down the black _Elephant_ with his _Crossbowman_. 

  
  


At the moment the one eyed Books marched inside the room with a sheet of parchment in his hands. He approached the prince whispering in his ears and handed the parchments. 

Jon slowly swallowed his wine studying the old rag's reaction. His old eyes were for a moment surprised which he quickly calmed. 

After finishing his report the Volantine quickly left the room.

"That asshole scarce brings good news to us" Dick Straw said which prompted a nod from Danzo. "He is more inapt than that crow of yours"

  
  


Jon ignored them and gave the Tattered Prince a questioning look. The prince passed two sheets of parchment to him. "These are the names and information of notable keyholders outside of Braavos"

The names were from all over the free cities. Some names were marked which Jon understood were his deceased victims from Myr and Tyrosh. Others were from Lys and even Summer Isles. Some faraway from Yi-Ti as well. Their trades, affairs and positions were listed. Jon folded the paper and put in his patch. With this list Jon was basically forced to invite the prince in the meeting.

"I extend my sincerest appreciation for this" Jon thanked the man, "after all we need to act with one accord in this matter"

The Tattered Prince however didn't appear thrilled. He had an impassive look on his face. _There's another parchment._

"No need to thank me" the old man grumbled, "read this" He threw the piece of paper toward him.

The contents inside the parchment shook Jon to his core. The death of Robert Baratheon and capture of Lord Stark as traitor was written with black ink on the white sheet. His mind began reeling. _What in the god's name_ _is this?_ The paper also informed about the capture of Tyrion Lannister by Lady Catelyn Stark and in retaliation Tywin Lannister marched his troops to Riverlands. _Westeros is at war._ However how much of this is true is yet to be seen. 

_Books._ Jon pacified himself. _So it is him who brings the impending news to the old rag._ He again placed the parchment in his pocket. "The game is yet to be determined, so shall we?" Jon offered to continue the game.

The Tattered Prince was surprised by his blank face. He violently threw the board. "Game? You want to continue the game, boy? Don't you see the massive issue you are in? Your damn uncle who was supposed to pillar you is now held captive"

Silence dominated the room. Even Dick Straw kept his mouth shut. The Tattered Prince was rarely angered. This was the first time Jon witnessed as well.

"If the contents in the paper are true then it is a pain in the ass" Jon agreed, "however I wonder how much this 'merchant' of yours sells you the truth" Jon had a feeling much of the information was true. Hell, even Lord Stark could be dead by now. Every news Tattered Prince brought was never a lie. Not the crushing announcement of Lord Stark as Robert's Hand or the betrothal between Sansa and Prince Joffrey nor the news of Molaquo Maegyr arriving in Pentos and not even the golden company. For all he knows, they could very well be in Pentos by now.

  
  


It was not whether the news held any truth or not, it was about the matter of time. Lord Varys _,_ as Jon undeniably suspected the one behind the revelation, had this peculiar power of sharing the news before the arrangement. 

  
  


"What are you implying?" Tattered Prince asked narrowing his eyes,

"Just what you heard" Jon replied, "The pretty lady I visited the other day I believe Ser Lucifer had recited you about" Jon had the old rag know that he was aware they were keeping eyes on him, "her name is Ashara Dayne. She was brought by the Iron Bank from Pentos and say what, she tells me there were no golden company in Pentos all this time"

The prince had his eyes wide. "No, it can't be"

"Really? Might I ask what made my lord deny so quickly?" Jon pressed,

Just at the right moment his men brought a chained man and a filthy boy to the room. Books was also brought inside. Datsun, the one behind the intrusion, was a leader of the previous company of cats. He had a square face, a pug nose, and short chestnut hair. Just by his presence Cargo grabbed his valyrian arkh but was stopped by the Tattered Prince from going any further. The prince coldly glared at his captain of guards.

"Who are they and what is the meaning of all this?" The commander demanded,

Jon stood from his seat and went toward the boy. He ruffled the boy's dirty dark hair. By the appearance, Jon guessed he was no more than eight. 

"This my lord" Jon said laying his hand on the boy's shoulder, "is your 'merchant' from whom you buy the information across the narrow sea" 

"You were observing me?" The Tattered Prince was angered by his audacity.

"Zahrina food for this brat please" Jon asked the woman. He turned in the direction of the Prince, "for certainty I was not observing you my prince but those around you." He glared at the one eyed Volantine. The man groped and looked elsewhere.

"Who is this then?" The Tattered Prince raised a question, frowning.

Jon glanced at Datsun for an answer. "He is a sailor of Bravoos who was in contact with this weasel" Datsun pointed at Books.

"My lord… I am innocent… I...I did nothing" the chained man whimpered in bastard valyrian.

"Answer me good man" Jon asked in the same tongue, kneeling "and answer me honestly then I shall let you go" the man weakly nodded, "where are the golden company?"

"Myr.. .. ..four months ago they were in Myr" the man hobbled, "hired by the remnants of Myrish bankers" 

Jon chuckled, "did you hear that, my prince? This one is responsible for why Pentos slipped through your fingers" 

"My lord you promised…" The man tried to talk but Jon cut him off.

"Promises are made to be broken. Meris, sweetling" Jon called out the homely woman, "you know what to do" The Tattered Prince nodded. His face was red. _Ho, angry now eh_? Pretty Meris, the company's torturer, dragged the sailor out of the room amidst his cry.

"Your magnificence, we found the boy is mute" Datsun informed him. Jon stared at the boy. The brat was enjoying the roster onion and cheese.

Jon walked so as to near the boy. He poured himself a glass full and sloshed the red wine before swallowing. It was sweet wine. The sunset ray of light that came through the window dyed the boy's face red.

"Do you know lord commander, what are they called?" Jon asked the man beckoning the little boy. 

The old rag had a murderous look on his eyes and Jon was enjoying it. 

When the man didn't answer his question Jon said, "Little birds, they are called" Lady Ashara had told him about Lord Varys and his birds. "I didn't know they were tongue-tied however. Quite cruel, wouldn't you say?"

The boy was supping the mouth-watering roasted onion. His fingers were smearing with grease. The sweet flavour of the food was soaring. Jon wrinkled his nose. "Would that thing be easy" He told the boy, patting his back before abruptly choking his neck. The brat struggled for air. His head was pushed onto the table and his little hands craving, scratching and clawing back of his hand and wrist. The little bird coughed but no sound was heard. The grease mixed with saliva was seeping from the brat's mouth over the back of his fingers. His small face was slowly turning purple and blue eyes bulging out. The brat fought for breath until his hand stopped and he was dead to the world. Jon laid his eyes at the dead boy with expression as cold as an icy winter, a raging fury inside his heart. 

He was not vexed with the boy. In point of fact he had nothing against the poor waif. Jon was, all things being equal, exasperated by Lord Stark. The boy was all but just an excuse for quenching his anger. No matter how much he reminded himself that he hated Lord Stark there was still part of him that was pained to learn about his uncle. _The old gods have condemned you Lord Stark for choosing your friend over your kin._ On the other hand, contrastingly he was thrilled to learn Robert Baratheon was dead.

  
  


_You should not divert your mind elsewhere._ Jon evoked himself. _That's right, it's even better now the Lannister and Starks are engaging in conflict with each other._ The voices inside his head whispered. Jon snapped his fingers. "Your magnificence?" Datsun prompted, "Take this body and find Lanster. Tell him to find a boy just like this and put on these clothes, and present me by the morrow." Jon commanded. The man bowed his head and left. 

Jon planned to use one of the many waif he had invested to replace as 'little bird'. _If there's none matching the appearance in Braavos then there are those wildlings as well._ Jon pondered. _I shall have a few of my men fellow the bird across the narrow sea. I need to know if this spider can see my web._

  
  


"What should be done of this one Captain?" Danzo asked the Prince motioning Books. The Volantine was on the verge of fainting. 

"Send him to Meris" was the answer, "My prince.. please listen to me. Don't believe that dragon bastard" the Volantine begged, "Take him out of my sight" The old rag growled.

Something about the people of Volantis made Jon irate. "Your magnificence" the one eyed called him. _Didn't he just call me a bastard seconds ago?_ "Gods have mercy. Please be good to me and talk some sense to the Prince.. tis not my fault" 

_What made you think being good to people all the time will ever get you what you want?_ Jon wanted to ask but Danzo had already pulled the man out of the stay.

"Ha, that was nasty" Dick Straw voiced, biting a chunk load of fried pigeon. "I thoroughly enjoyed it"

"How long have you known?" Prince of Pentos asked him, scowling.

_Long enough to know the truth._

"It matters not" Jon said shaking his head, "In lieu allow me to tell you a tale about a raven in a cage" He began taking his seat, "the raven was one of the many in rookie of Winterfell catered by the good ol' Maester Luwin. 

"Myself as a child always used to see Maester Luwin feed the ravens and oft I would observe the ravens enclosed to a cage would peck on the cage to get a platter of food. You know peanuts and seeds. I had assumed that the more often the raven peck the cage the more often it would receive the platter of food. Did I ever tell you how troublesome I was as a child? The _wolfsblood_ they called it" Jon gave a humourless chuckle. The Tattered Prince was annoyed hearing his story. "One day curiosity got the best of me and I isolated a raven from the rookie and took it to my room and restrained it to my birdcage" He took a healthy gulp of sweetwine.

"For a week I fed the raven foods every time it poked on the cage but as being a bastard of Winterfell there were times when I could not get proper food for myself. At such times even if the raven pecked the cage I could not afford to provide the food so as a result the raven halted pecking the cage entirely. It accepted it's defeat." _This is how you break someone._

"But a week later as my struggle for food elapsed and I again could provide food for the raven it only nipped the cage when necessary. Very few number of times compared to previously" _This is how you control someone._

"Seeing the two instances made me funny. So I placed the platter of food in front of the raven but just out of its reach and the raven got the food only occasionally regardless of its pecking. Do you know what happened?" Jon asked, "The raven struck the cage raving mad as nutty as a fruitcake" _This is how you enslave someone._

The room was silent as crypt by the time he finished his tale. Caggo scoffed by the end. To him it was a waste of time but the prince was trying to grasp what Jon was trying to convey.

"That little bird is the crow here?" The prince queried, raising his brows.

Jon shook his head. _He still doesn't get it._ "You are the crow here as you behaved however your provider wanted you to behave" Hearing him the prince squinted his eyes but uttered no words. "Unless you stop trying to tangle yourself in the cage that is" _The message was clear: don't engage yourself with the affairs of Seven Kingdoms or else next time I shall be the provider and you the raven._ It was upto the prince whether he received the hidden warning or not and judging by his reaction Jon was satisfied he understood.

"So what happened to the raven?" Dick Straw asked with all seriousness in the world.

"That silly raven cried too loudly and Maester Luwin found out about it. I got reprimanded and didn't get food for two days" Jon answered, annoyed recalling his punishment. _It was just a raven for fucks sake._

Dick Straw laughed insolently as if it was the funniest thing in the world.

  
  


By the time Jon left the Outcast Inn the sky was immersed by darkness. The moon was shining on the horizon and the city of Braavos was alight and buzzing. Jon took the road south of the Outcast Inn and east of Happy Port onto the _Satin Palace_ with half dozen guards.

  
  


The palace jutted across the small canal. The name was Satin Palace but in truth it was a brothel that Jon currently owned. As he marched into its courtyard, a boy ran out to help Jon. “Take care of my _Shadow_ ” he told the boy and handed the reins.

  
  


Whiffs of perfume and comely wenches greeted him as he moved into his private room. They were giggling and japing. Some even dared to call him. _Dick Straw loves this place the most._ Jon recalled. The place was full of pretty young girls that yearned to be a courtesan someday. Unless they did in fact become a courtesan, he had no time for whores. Jon hardly visited this place but tonight however there was a special guest joining him. 

  
  


He climbed the stairway and reached his room. Inside the cabinet, the candles were lit roundly, shadows painted on the walls, the moonshine radiating through casement and honeyed fragrance was invading the wind. Myrish carpet laid on the floor. The bed was covered with Lysene silk blanket with various tapestries hanging across it and atop the bed was a Lysene beauty. _Lady Tyra of Rogare._

  
  


Liquid silver hair was shimmering in the low light. Her magnificent blue-green eyes were equally glistening. The Ivory silk she chose to wear did little and less to conceal her large treacherous breasts. The way she was stretching her legs showing her voluptuous body and the smirk on her ethereal valyrian face would have made any lesser man already drool at the mere sight of her. Jon however barely raised his eyebrows. He had so far mastered not to get swayed by women's charms. _Men want what they can not have. I already have her in my fingers._

  
  


"I have been eagerly awaiting your grace" Tyara smiled mischievously. A glass of wine on her one hand and the other playing with her hair.

"I want answers," Jon blankly put. The whore scowled.

"Not so easy, my lord. Come entertain me." She offered the half drank glass of wine.

  
  


Jon sighed. _Women…._

He took the offered glass and drank it all. She always smelled of high heaven. Her red lips were inviting him and Jon eagerly accepted. He pushed her onto the bed and kissed her hard fondling her enormous bosom and both of them got carried away.

  
  
  
  


Three days later, it was the night of the Anniversary of Uncloaking. Braavos was flourishing. The rushlights were shimmering far and wide from the sculptures at lagoons in the Canal of Heros and the bridges to the Temple of Moonsingers and the Isle of the Gods. The celebration was alive and kicking. Ashara during her early exile in Braavos had witnessed how wild the festivities were. Tonight appeared even grander.

  
  


For a long while, as legends have it, Braavos was hidden from the known world. Braavosi merchant ships had carried false charts and practiced an artful deceit when questioned about their home port. Thus, for more than a century, Braavos was known as the Secret City. It all ended however when Sea Lord Uthero Zalyne put an end to that secrecy, sending forth his ships to every corner of the world to proclaim the existence and location of Braavos, and invite men of all nations to celebrate the 111th festival of the city’s founding. By that time all of the original escaped slaves were dead, along with all of their former masters. Even so, Sea Lord Uthero had sent envoys from the Iron Bank to Valyria several years prior, to clear the way for what became known as the Uncloaking or the Unmasking of Uthero, or so Ashara heard.

  
  


Jon on the other side was pondering the same but his thoughts were more on the Valyrians. Even after the Sea Lord had sent an envoy of Iron Banks to the dragonlords, the Valyrians proved to have little and less interest in the descendants of slaves who had escaped a century before _._ In his mind it was foolish of them to ignore the former slaves. And the Iron Bank paid handsome settlements to the grandchildren of the men whose ships the founders had seized and sailed away whilst refusing to pay for the value of the slaves themselves. _They always were shrewd bastards._ Jon contemplated. _The Valyrians were doomed to fall. They arrogantly ignored the mountain of treasures in the face of their former slaves._

Ashara was sailing together with Daemon and an aged man whom he introduced as the Prince of Pentos in the cog. Her heart was pounding heavy gazing at the men all over her. They were mercenaries everywhere. Their gaunt and hard faces with swords and spears on their hands were directed towards her.

Daemon touched her hand and squeezed. "It is alright. They are just here to escort us" He leaned closer and whispered. For some reason Ashara accepted his reasoning.

They passed the docks, watching down from the decks of tarry Ibbenese whalers and big-bellied Westerosi cogs. Porters and mummers, ropemakers and sail menders, taverners, brewers and bakers and beggars all were hidden with a variety of masks on their faces.

  
  


The long way took them across the Temple of Lord of Light with its carved stone faces. From the deck of the cog, she looked at the green copper domes of the Hall of Truth, the masts of houses rising like a forest across the Green Canal. A feeling of nostalgia hit her. In the course of her exile, she used to take little Dany and Viserys across these places. They had stayed in _Antaryans_ previously _._ Ashara wondered how quickly time flies. To her it was like yesteryear when she used to take Dany and Viserys across the Palace of Truth and the Sept beyond the Sea. _And now Viserys is ready to sell Dany to a savage horselord. How did this all happen?_ Ashara could not find an answer to the question. _Dany, my sweet princess, may the Seven give you strength._ Ashara prayed. She even prayed for Viserys. From Pentos to Braavos and in the last couple of days Ashara oft wondered had she always failed to comply with Viserys like Rhaella did? Was there a time where she brushed aside Viserys for Daenerys? Deep in her heart she knew she had always favoured Dany. For the reason she had lost her own child she told herself Dany was her daughter and not Rhaella's. Ashara had always prioritised Dany. _Viserys was only but a boy who lost everything. His father, his brother and his home all at the innocent age of eight and I never felt to comfort him._ The guilt was eating her inside.

  
  


Jon was studying Lady Ashara's face. There was dejection reflecting from her that picked his interest. _Something is bothering her._ But Jon felt not to disturb her. He had his own problems to worry about. 

  
  


Some time later they reached the tall towers of the mighty Sea Lord's palace. The golden thunderbolt was turning on its spire atop the castle. They passed the portcullis through the drawbridge and walked inside the pale inner curtain walls. 

  
  


Jon dashed toward the Sea Lord palace with the Lady Ashara, Tattered Prince and a couple guards, whistling softly to himself. Naturally Jon would have preferred to wear normal clothes but summarising the place would be filled with aristocracy he needed to dress as one. He wore high leather boots, knee-length new silk ivory tunic and a pair of black breeches and a leather jerkin across his back. His distinctive sigil was decorated at the jerkin across his chest. As Jon lay hold of the position of the unofficial head of Windblown, the coat of arms was made at Braavos, the ensign of _Dragons Army_ . The sigil with a pure black background and on the surface there was a coat of dragon and direwolf with bloodlust eyes intertwining the sword. The eyes of the beasts conferred the apprehension of eyeing at everyone. The sword indicated the mercenary Windblown, and the direwolf and dragon symbolised _winter_ and _fire & blood _ to all the enemies, it wouldn't be wrong if one said that the sigil itself mirrors Daemon Targaryen.

Jon was whistling, not because he was having a good day. In point of fact, ever since the day when the Tattered Prince revealed him Ned Stark as the Hand of Robert Baratheon, was close to horrible. He was whistling so as to contain his spine tingling eagerness of the night.

  
  


The passage hall spread before her eyes. The bright green carpet that Ashara trod over was really mushy. In spite of the fact that people called this place a palace, to her it seems like the establishment was only used for social gatherings and work negotiations. The structures were so different from castles of Westeros. 

The basement was as full as it could hold, and people with varied masks covered their faces were enjoying themselves already, joking and jesting, murmuring and shouti. Outside she saw a peddler selling chunks of cheese, ripping them off the wheel with his fingers whenever he found a buyer. A woman had a bag of wrinkled apples. Skins of wine were being passed from hand to hand, some girls were selling kisses, and one sailor was playing the sea pipes. The balconies inside were filling too. The first and third levels were for merchants and captains and other respectable folk. Ashara noticed. The Bravosi preferred the fourth and highest, where the seats were cheapest. It was a riot of bright color up there, while down below more somber shades held sway. The second balcony was cut up into private boxes where the mighty could hold themselves in comfort and privacy, safely apart from the vulgarity above and below. They had the best view of the stage, and servants to bring them food, wine, cushions, whatever they might desire. 

  
  


"My my. Look who's here. Daemon Targaryen himself." A sweet voice called out. Ashara turned her head toward the direction. A beautiful young woman dressed in a low-cut gown of pale lemon silk was the source of sound. Her jet black hair was bound up in a net of spun gold, and a jet-and-gold necklace brushed against the top of her full breasts. Her silk was a startling contrast to the light brown of her skin. 

"My eyes are blessed to behold such otherworldly beauty in this glamorous night" Daemon exceedingly applauded which drew a small giggle from the woman. "You look as lovely as ever, my lady" He took her hand and kissed her knuckles.

"And you are as full of compliments as ever, your eminence" She replied, smiling. Ashara noticed the Prince of Pentos stayed back talking to some merchant.

"Can you blame me though?" Daemon went on, 

The woman playfully rolled her eyes before eyeing her. "How rude of his eminence to not acquaint me with your lady". There was this elegance displayed from how she talked and moved that surely would attract men.

  
  


"Ahh, forgive my insolence, ladies" Daemon feigned, "Lady Ashara the beauty here is Lady Bellegere Otherys also known as _Black_ _Pearl,_ the most famous courtesan of Braavos. And, Lady Bellegere the alluring woman before your eyes is Lady Ashara of House Dayne, my escort for tonight" 

Black Pearls. Ashara knew about them. The first woman to bore that name was the captain and pirate queen Bellegere Otherys, who reigned briefly as one of the nine paramours of King Aegon IV Targaryen, and bore him a bastard daughter, Bellenora, the second Black Pearl, a famous courtesan acclaimed by the singers of her day as the most beautiful woman in all the world. Her descendants became courtesans as well, each in turn known as the Black Pearl, and each having in her veins some measure of the blood of the dragon to this very day.

Ashara was told their art was not only for the bedchamber; their wit and their bearing made them much sought after by the richest merchants, the boldest captains, the most distinguished visitors. Keyholders, lords, and princes seek their favors. The most famous courtesans take poetic names that add to their allure and mystery. Singers vie for their patronage, whilst the Braavosi with their slender swords oft duel to the death in the name of a courtesan. _So this one is also named Bellegere Otherys after her ancestor_.

  
  


"It is my pleasure to meet you, Lady Ashara. You have such pretty eyes" the courtesan responded.

_They should call her the Brown Pearl._ Ashara thought. _She’s more brown than black._

"You flatter me, Lady Bellegere. Your family is known far and wide. I am happy for being graced with this occasion" Ashara replied back with an easy smile.

"By the way who accompanied you, my lady?" Daemon asked her,

  
  


The young woman thinly smiled and pointed to the direction of an obese balding man with a funny whiskers. His cloak was yellow velvet, and his doublet was a red. The man was excessively fat and reminded Ashara of Illyrio. She even thought for a moment if he was Illyrio's long lost brother.

"Keyholder Bessaro" Daemon paused looking at the man in upper balcony, "... is so fat you ought to count him as two," 

The Black Pearl laughed.

The keyholder was indeed so big he needed a special seat, thrice the size of a common chair.

"How bold of you to say that, your eminence" The woman chastised but her eyes failed to back those words.

The way she was eyeing Daemon it was certain they had something going on. Her dark orbs were rigorously devouring him.

Jon caught a glimpse of Bessaro Reyaan. The talk of the common folk was one time he was summoned to the Hall of Truth to vote, but when he stepped onto his barge it sank.

  
  


He glanced upward where three scions of House Otharys at the balcony were each accompanied by courtesans of House Otherys. _Fitting._ Jon thought. Keyholders; Lord Prestayn sat alone, a man so ancient that you wondered how he ever reached his seat; noblemen from House Torone and Pranelis shared a box, as they shared an uncomfortable alliance; the Third Sword was hosting a half-dozen friends.

  
  


"Send my love to all your sisters, my lady" Jon told Black Pearl before departing,

They took a seat at the second balcony and watched the murmurs play. _The Gate_ , one of the murmurs play staged by a man named Izembaro, had developed a tilt as the building settled, their costumes were prone to mildew, and water snakes nested in the flooded cellar, but none of that troubled the mummers so long as the house was full.

Half an hour past he boredly watched _The Dome_ perform _The Bloody Hand_ , a fine speech as the murmur lay dying, and a splendid fight with a demonic boar before that. _How awful._ Jon thought. It was not the end of his misery however. Next, _The Blue Lantern_ performed _Wroth of the Dragonlords._ "And here the last Titan yet stands, astride the stony shoulders of his brothers," the fool shouted and for some strange reason sailors, peddlers, and prostitutes alike applauded as if it were the greatest thing they ever witnessed. 

  
  


At last, for the love of every god in Braavos, the Titan roared twelve times signifying the midnight and every man and women, sailor and merchants, murmurs and prostitutes alike removed their mask and celebrated the first day of the unmasking.

The food courses were served by the servants and it was the most variety of foods Jon had ever seen at one place. The merchants began to feast on swan, snails and boars. Cheese-stuffed meatloaf and boiled beef and mushy peas were plated up. Wild boar cooked with Lysene sauce were dished out. 

Jon took a Braavosi vintage mixed with sweet powder and a couple of fried biscuits dipped with honey. Lady Ashara beside him was trying lemon cakes. It reminded him of Sansa for a moment. The Tattered Prince much like him was only swallowing hot wine but his guards however, were devouring the boars and beefs reciped with black pepper sauce. From the corner of his eyes Jon saw Bessaro Reyaan in his thrice damn wide leather chair being served cream swans, poached pears, grapes and copious olives, and a wild array of fruit tarts. _Heavens know the sheer destruction this man will cause tonight._ Jon thought gaping at the enormous amount of fare the fat man was surrounded with.

Jon turned his head and searched for more guests. He had yet to see the Sea Lord. The Otherys were giggling and munching the honeyfingers and fried locusts. The members of House Fregar were impassive in their high seat looking at fish and crab stews distastefully. _Hey, they are quite finger-licking specially if the soup is thickened with unsalted butter. Why aren't you eating?_ Jon thought sarcastically. He very well knew why their mood was sour. If it weren't for Jon then Tormo Fregar would have been the Sea Lord already.

  
  


To the further edge of the terrace Jon caught the sight of Tycho Nestoris and Noho Dimittis, another representative of the Iron Bank. _Just a few more minutes._ Jon told his dragon, warging as best as he possibly could. _Hang in there Bloodfyre. Just a bit longer._

  
  


As Jon cast his eyes around seeking more visitants he caught the sight of someone he never thought he would see again. Dressed in an orange silk tunic with sigil of sun and spear embroidered in yellow thread Prince Oberyn Martell stood before him removing his mask. _The red viper._ Jon mused. _This night is getting better and better._

Ashara was frozen. Few feets apart from her stood her old friend. His black eyes as shiny as pools of coal oil met her violet and he was half grinning at her. _Oberyn….no way_. Ashara felt like all the energy drained from her body. Her feets were paralysed, eyes wide apart and jaw slightly dropped.

"Well I'll be damned if it isn't Jon Snow" Oberyn said raising his hands, "last time I saw you, you were with Ser Arthur but now" he glanced at her leaning his head, "not so much"

"Prince Oberyn a pleasant surprise I should say" Daemon answered correspondingly sounding thrilled, "and also last time I saw you, you were a cunt" Ashara was left startled in the manner he regarded Oberyn. He took a measure of Oberyn up and down, "and you still are"

The Prince grinned from ear to ear but there was no fondness in his dark eyes. Jon noted. _Why is he here? Is he one of the keyholders? Or did he just happen to be here?_ Jon thought of all possibilities. _No, he can't just happen to be here. The way he greeted us is too nonchalant for the matter._

"Still the cocky bastard I see," the Prince remarked.

"Lady Ellaria" Jon greeted her with a kiss on her knuckles, "and Lady Nym" He followed the same. The Dornish prince seemed to bring his paramour and his second daughter only. 

"What happened to that pretty face of yours" Lady Nym teased him, 

"I got a kiss from an ugly ass with an axe"

"I would love to meet that noble man and thank him" the Prince added smugly,

"Why not, but I must tell you he's in the watery grave of the Summer Sea" 

Ashara listened to the back and forth between Daemon and Oberyn. They appeared bizarrely acquainted. 

"Ash, colour me surprised, I am still shocked so much that I can hardly trust my sight. We all heard the news of your unfortunate demise. Is it a ghost I see?" Oberyn expressed, Ashara immediately tensed, "how...and why are you here?" _Why am I here? I am here to help Lyanna's son. The same Lyanna who stole Rhaegar from your sister, also my dearest friend._ Ashara was betraying herself.

"Eyes can be deceiving many a times prince of Dorne" Daemon interjected, "Ash? You never told you were named that...mother" _Mother?_ Daemon was fondly smiling at her with all the love in his purple eyes. _He is not dejected a little._

"Mother?" Prince Oberyn chuckled, "oh I almost forgot she is your mother" _Too much excited, are you?_ "I guess there is only one way to see things, until _someone_ shows us how to look at them with different eyes" _I know the truth,_ he was saying. Jon wondered who was this someone he was speaking of _._

"What we see depends mainly on what we _look_ for." Jon said with a sharp look. _What are you looking for Oberyn?_

Prince Oberyn flashed him a dangerous smile, "Who can say, we oft find things where we look for them, boy." _Quite a looker you must be then._

"When you're sure of what you're looking at, look harder." _Look harder at where you are princeling. This is no Sunspear._

"Oh will you two ever stop?" Ellaria playfully said, oblivious to everything going on. "Lady Ashara the rumours about your beauty were not exaggerated. You are as lovely as the singers say"

Lady Ashara hesitantly smiled.

"You still haven't answered me, Ash. How and why are you here?" Oberyn pressed her for answers. The playfulness from his tone was gone and Ashara could clearly see the contained anger on his eyes. 

Ashara could not prepare any answers. 

"Oh look it's time for the meeting" Daemon again interrupted. And he was right. The merchants and noblemen were making their way toward the staircase. Ashara thanked the god.

"Shall we?" Daemon asked, offering his hand. Ashara quickly latched on but before they could escape Oberyn held her wrist.

"You are yet to answer me, Ash" Oberyn halted her. 

Daemon stepped in front of her, "Hopefully all the questions shall be answered in this council, no?" Before Oberyn could reply Daemon grabbed his hand and removed it from her wrist, "Here's a word of advice from what I have learned so far, always look at what you have left, princeling. Never look at what you have lost." Daemon coldly smiled, patting on Oberyn's back.

  
  


Jon took Lady Ashara's hand and marched ascent onto the towers of the keyholders and noble families where the powerful merchants, noble and keyholders were gathering. As the castle itself was built on a cliff one could see the enormous lights of Braavos from the long terrace and the Great Hall was at the absolute top of the palace which worked perfectly for Jon. _Prince_ _Oberyn, I am not finished with you._

Each and every one was requested to sit in one of the bended looped stone staircases. It was a traditional council of Braavos. Candles were clenched on candelabras on the arrow loops, pair of colleen graven image adjoining each other 

made up of river rock painted with ivory were inclined to obelisk and tumble stone blocks of considerable size jutted from the ground.

  
  


The original founders of the Iron Bank numbered three and twenty out of whom sixteen men and seven women, each of whom possessed a key to the bank's great subterranean vaults. However, certain of the founding families of Braavos have declined over the centuries, and a few have lost their wealth entirely, yet even the meanest still cling to their keys and the honors that go with them. Lady Visara Zalyne was one such precedent. Jon caught her eyes and thinly grinned. Her chestnut colored hair was carefully tied using a silver hair ornament. The cotton dress dyed with violet paint presented her a pleasant visage.

House Zalyne was one of the earliest noble houses of Braavos, if not the most. The First Sea Lord himself descended from House Zalyne, Uthero Zalyne. However the years following by did no good to House Zalyne. As Jon learnt about their history their family line of business was mostly trading. From the rich brackish waters of lagoon full of fish and shellfish of all sorts, the Zalynes had benefited tremendously. The sheltering islands were also thickly forested, and iron, tin, lead, slate, and other useful materials could be found. However, fast forward centuries later, trade was the most standard occupation to most of the nobles, merchants and seafarers. Due to their family conflict with Fregars, at the time period where the then Sea Lord descended from House Fregar, they had lost most of their influence in the recent half century. In short they had lost much of their esteem among nobility until Jon arrived at the scene. Lord Ferrego Antaryon had advised Jon to weaken House Fregar as much he could. 

Jon had arranged a meeting with Lady Visara Zalyne, the sole heir of House Zalyne, and broke a deal with her. House Zalyne was sited in the farthest corner of Braavos across the Long Canal. They held influence over Silty Town and the area surrounding the Sweetwater River which included the most crowded fish market as well. Considering the garrison of Windblown Jon was in need for the moderately priced provisions and besides the Silty Town hosted a lot of downs and outs, and vagabonds. So it occurred naturally to Jon to approach the lady. In return, Jon on a large scale sold them the fabulous feathered cloaks, nutmegs, cinnamons, peppers and hardwoods of Summer Isles.

  
  


Jon had not registered at first how much he had inhibited the economy of the entire Essos. He soon came to understand the consequence of his actions. _War builds nothing but demolishes everything. It is up to you if you can make something out of nothing_ ….... and he did.

The provisions and products brought from the Summer Isles were traded by the nearby trading cities like Lys, Myr and Tyrosh and from there they were shipped to the other parts of the known world at a very high price. It was the reason despite being at constant wars the three cities were very advanced compared to even say White harbour and Kings Landing although Jon had never seen the later. Same with Braavos and Ibb.

  
  


Truth be told, Braavos was the city of fortune for Jon. As a consequence of his actions in Myr and Tyrosh, most of the trade cartel of the two cities were sabotaged. As a result of that, the Summer Islanders would seek Braavos and Pentos more often than they were wont to. The aberrant order of Braavos where any ship outside of the native city needed to be anchored at only Ragman's Harbour served him profoundly. Quhuru Mo, the captain of _Cinnamon Wind,_ on one occasion emerged on the harbour and Jon was, to a great extent, aware about Summer Isles thanks to Malthar Qo because of his previous voyage in _Cinnamon Wind_. Malthar has told him alot about Summer Isles but most importantly Jon knew the Summer Isles lacked iron, tin, and other metals, but were rich in gemstones and spices. 

  
  


Using that to his advantage Jon had proposed to the Captain and his circle of fellow Islanders an offer to exchange goods which was too good for them to refuse. 

  
  


In the last three months itself Jon had worked as an _agent_ to exchange gemstones and spices for trading galleys between the Summer Islanders and the Sea Lord. The Arsenal of Braavos commanded by Lord Antaryon had no shortage of galleys and the Summer Islanders capable of carrying sufficient provisions were more than eager to sell their goods seeing to the fact that two of their biggest trading cities were left to dust.

  
  
  


Emeralds, rubies, sapphires, and pearls of many sorts, cinnamons, feathered cloaks, peppers, raisin, coconut, allspice, cardamom and strawberry were exported to Braavos in larger scores prior to any occurrence before to which most of the profits were embezzled by Jon.

  
  
  


Most of the over exceedingly rich merchants and nobles would turn blind when it comes to the poorly maintained Ragman Harbour. The Purple Harbour much to their misfortune hosted no Summer Islanders and the demands for rare and precious woods such as bloodwood, ebony, mahogany, purpleheart, blue mahoe, burl, tigerwood, goldenheart, pink ivory were high in Braavos. Jon in a large scale had bought them at first with the treasury of Windblown and sold them to the likes of Prestayns and Otharys. The Islanders, already at loss of their main trading cartels, were desperate to sell their products even at low price and Jon fabricated the nobles with the idea of the length the traders would need to sail around the two continents to increase the price. 

  
  


The scheme was optimum and one such easy prey was Lady Visara Zalyne who was smiling back at him.

  
  


The Sea Lord took the centre and gained everyone's attention.

"I am pleased to welcome all of my guests here tonight. We all are here to celebrate the 111th anniversary of the city's founding." Everybody began to clap, "however as the citizens of Braavos we have our obligations to seek for betterment of our mighty city" Lord Antaryon paused for a moment and looked at him. _Here we go._ "One such reverence we hold is for Prince Daemon of House Targaryen, Son of the former Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lady Lyanna Stark" 

Everybody began to mutter amongst themselves. From the corner of his eyes Jon saw Oberyn. The prince was silent as grave and was glaring at him but it seemed his paramour and daughter weren't aware about who Daemon Targaryen was. _Just as I thought,_ Jon processed. _He made an appearance following his elder crippled brother's arrangement. After all Arthur had told me Prince Doran was the one in power. Or else this impulsive prince would have sooner launched at me inside the inner hall already. Much like that bastard volantine old blooded daughter of his right now._ Lady Nymeria was already looking for her hidden dagger. Although arms were forbidden inside the palace, Jon should admire the sand snake for sneaking one inside.

Many eyes reached him as Jon kept a hard face. 

"Prince Daemon Targaryen as many of you know has been inhabiting our city as of late. He wishes to procure loans from the Iron Bank to regain his crown in the sunset kingdoms. It is up to all of you, my fellow keyholders of the Iron Bank, to determine should the prince be allowed to lend the golds from the bank" Lord Antaryon offered with a thick voice. 

"What evidence supports this prince says who he is'' Luci Prestayns of House Prestatyn, the captain of _Lady Bright_ questioned frowning. He was a straightforward seafarer who had no personal alliance to anyone.

  
  


"There's a document, I hear" One of the keyholders said. Matteno Orthys a nobleman from Lys. One of the major dealers of his from Lys.

  
  
  


"A few glyphs, is all '' scowled Cephas Drahar, the current Prince admiral of Tyrosh. His whole family was massacred by Jon. _This one is a pain in the neck._

  
  


"But a proper will" Torreo Hayne voiced his opinion. Another keyholder. He was a Magister of Lys and very much in Jon's favour.

  
  


"And whose hands wrote those glyphs?" Bessaro Reyaan asked from his high seat. _This man could bring predicament_. Jon told himself.

"Septon Thomas and Queen Rhaella, herself" Noho Dimittis answered his question. The Iron Banker was a short stature man who had sharp green eyes.

Jon raised his hand slightly and the Sea Lord nodded for him to state his mind. He strode toward where Lord Antaryon stood and took the main dias. His high leather boots drummed with stone as everyone waited for him in silence. The porch was touched down by the stream of cierges and in the wide blue yonder the moonlight dazzled as Jon inspected each and everyone. Lady Ashara was eyeing him with perceptible stress on her face, the keyholders were curiosily peering, Prince Oberyn looked relaxed but his eyes were two pits of undisguised anger, his paramour was shocked and if looks could kill a person then Jon would have already died from the way Lady Nym was glaring at him. Lord Antaryon was as impassive as ever and the representatives of Iron Bank showed indifference to him.

  
  
  


"I am Daemon of House Targaryen and Windblown" Jon introduced himself, "and I am the one petitioning the Iron Bank for funding" To tell the truth, Jon was not lacking gold as it happens for the rest of his life he could very well travel all over the known world but nevertheless greed was something that every man possessed. No matter whatever you have you just would not be content with. "The funding I need is for to gain _my_ crown that House Targaryen was usurped. The current regime of House Baratheon as it stands is in debt for over nine millions with the Iron Bank alone" Six million was the amount but a white lie would make no difference. The keyholders gasped upon his announcement. Just the reaction he wanted. _I want to make them feel threatened._ Only the representatives of Iron Bank and the Sea Lord knew the truth. 

As the city of hundred Isles prospered the nobles felt to keep their treasure in an abandoned iron mine to guard them safe from thieves and pirates and rather than let their treasure sit idle, the wealthier Braavosi began to make loans to their less fortunate brethren. That was the origin of Iron Bank. _And when they learn such large scores of their treasure are indebted to a single party they obviously would want them back._

"Nine millions gold?" Lord Bessaro Reyaan shouted. His two guards helped him back to his seat, while two others stood behind him in the back of the box

  
  


"Nine millions gold, aye and the recent tidings of Westeros bears the news that Robert Baratheon is dead" Jon released the words. Silence greeted him for a moment before everyone erupted. Ashara and Oberyn both were wide eyed by the revelations. "Attention my lords and ladies" Jon shouted.

"Is this true?"

"No I don't believe this princeling"

"He's lying" Words were uttered.

  
  


Jon calmly turned toward the representatives of Iron Bank and asked them, "Lord Tycho Nestoris, I believe you can address the lords and ladies here." It was a gamble, Jon knew. Whether Robert Baratheon was truly dead or alive, he could not not confirm... but the Iron Bank, as Jon suspected, sure were aware. _They knew about Tyrosh as soon as I reached their door._ Such was the vast network of the Iron Banks. 

Tycho Nestoris was momentarily surprised by seeing the tables turned towards them. Jon was aware they couldn't afford to take chances here. If King Robert was truly dead then in a moon turn it would reach the shores of Braavos and Jon was mindful that Robert Baratheon was the centerpiece that truly held the seven kingdoms; his relationship with Jon Arryn, Eddard Stark and Tywin Lannister united Westeros as one. Like during the Greyjoy Rebellion. But with Jon Arryn being dead and the news of Lord Tywin Lannister in pursuit after Starks and Tullys the realm was falling apart. Jon was clued up of all that and he knew the Iron Banks were also aware about that very well. _Answer it, Tycho._

  
  


"His grace speaks truly. King Robert Baratheon lives no longer" Tycho admitted. _So it is true after all._

"Tell them the whole truth, Lord Tycho." Jon pressed on. _Don't be shy_ . _You went against my wishes. I am not having it easy with you even though it helped me._

  
  


Noho Dimittis stood from his stone seat and answered stiffly, "We are told Lord Tywin Lannister as of this moment is marching to Riverlands to retaliate House Stark" 

Jon smiled through his teeth. _There's a lot of room for negotiations now that nobles are turned against the Iron Bank._

The Iron Bank were truly a group of gluttonous money lenders. 

"As you can guess my lords and ladies, I don't require the golds from Iron Bank for my personal needs. I have no less gold than most of you around here" A boast, fine one. "But it is up to all of you whether you need your gold back when the day I land my ships across the narrow sea or not"

_I have fewer needs of yours but you need me more._ Jon was trying to convey **_._ **It was the same way how he made his way inside the company of Windblown. 

  
  


The noble keyholder discussed amongst themselves for a few moments. Jon on the other hand inspected Prince Oberyn. The prince was giving him a strange look almost as if he was regarding him.

  
  


After a while, Bessaro Reyaan stood and up and said, "Your offer is reasonable however we, the council, can not lend you money when such huge scores of our gold is already accounted to somewhere else and even if King Robert no longer lives we have our _means_ to regain our tally" Jon understood what 'means' he was talking about. _The faceless men and their many faced gods._

The Braavosi were afraid of taking risks. He knew. That was the reason they were settled to recover their gold by themselves and they didn't believe Jon would ever overthrow Baratheons. Jon summarised that getting the funding was not much difficult if he could only assure them profit. The keyholders would only invest money for profit. And he had his piece ready.

_Bloodfyre_ , Jon called his beast. _Now is the time._

  
  


"I want you to reconsider my lord" Jon requested, coldly smiling. "For I have the _key_ to regain my kingdoms" 

  
  


For a moment everybody was confused and then she heard a terrible screech. A demonic cry from heavens. So deafening roar that she had to cover her ears. Some even stood from their seat and then she heard…… _thump._ Something landed in front of them at the cliff of the terrace. _An enormous reptile…. no no no it's.. it's a dragon._ Her eyes were nearly bulged out and her body tingling all over. _By the Seven, it's a dragon._ Ashara failed to gather her wits. 

The dragon flapped its wings and shrieked, bringing terror inside her heart. It was as large as any stallion, even larger, with wings wide. Its scales even in dim light she could make out as blood red. Two orbs of otherworldly rubies gazed at her. _The rumours of a dragon were true._ Ashara pondered, petrified. 

  
  


Most of the nobles showed their horror-struck faces. Many have doubtless heard about the red beast but fewer believed. Sea Lord Antaryon belonged to the later category. He showed indifference and was intently eyeing Bloodfyre. Jon was impressed with the way the man handled himself.

  
  


Shouts of dragon echoed in the wind until Bloodfyre released an ear shattering screech prompting them silence.

  
  


"Such abominations need to be put down" someone yelled. Moreo Tumitis. Jon recognised the man. The parchment Tattered Prince had given marked the man as the Captain of _Storm Dancer_ from Tyrosh. _His home was burned by Bloodfyre, I see_. 

  
  


However his voice soon died as most of the nobles stared at the beast with desire in their eyes as plain as a pikestaff. _Men want what they cannot have_. This was the vulnerability in people that Jon keenly observed. Ironically, he failed to see himself on the same board. For his lust for power was also no different.

  
  


"Now I believe my noble lords, ladies and keyholders we can properly discuss with open mind" Jon offered raising his arm sideways.

As the discussion stretched longer many of the nobles soon began to doubt their earlier choice with few even shamelessly shifting boats.

  
  


Gyleno Dothare and his brother Gyloro Dothare accede to his demands. Both were patrons of Happy Port who owned a brothel there. 

As for Lady Visa Zalyne, Jon had no problems in persuading her to his side.

  
  


Luci Prestayns being a sailor by profession he was least bit interested in politics and agreed to help Jon if his golds could be repaid. Ternesio Terys, the Captain of Titan's Daughter was much the same.

Oreo Tendyris a renowned merchant and a native keyholder from Braavos. One of his main buyers of golden woods, pearls and cinnamons gave him the nod for funding as well.

  
  


Cephas Drahar, Hyuka Tendyris, Bajioc Torone, Zehar Pranelis and other remaining magistrates from Myr and Tyrosh strongly went against Jon. However, they didn't matter.

  
  


Finally at last the Sea Lord spoke, "The majority of the council have agreed upon to grant you the funding" His voice traveled all across the patio. No one has really counted the agreements and disagreements; it was Lord Antaryon and his words were law in the issues of Iron Bank and taxation. 

By hook or crook, when the talk was about the authority of a city or even a kingdom for that matter, one could say it was very significant. After all, Jon has already realised seeing the Sea Lord, the one with the authority could make black as white and white as black. _Like in Cyvasse, if you own the board you could choose any sides._

  
  


"State your amount, your grace, and we shall consider" Lord Antaryon proposed.

"I am indubitably honoured that his lordship considered me worthy for the deal. As for my amount I would want to borrow is indeterminate for you see I not only wish to regain my kingdom but I also wish for prosperity and progress of Westeros as its monarch which would allow me to return your borrowed money with interest" Jon put forth, slightly bowing his head.

  
  


"It is very noble of his eminence to want to develop his country and repay us in equity. I must say the Sunset Kingdom is blessed to have his eminence as it's next ruler" The Black Pearl commented smirking. Some of the fools believed her words and nodded blissfully.

  
  


"Very noble of me indeed my lady. After all I was raised by one of the most honorable lord of Westeros itself but for all that noble thought I am but a prince in exile, a king in paper only and seeing that I have no adequate amount of gold, I need to borrow from the Iron Bank to not only win the throne and meet my people's expectations but also repay the help all my esteemed keyholders tonight are willing to express"

  
  


"How much is that you need, your grace?" Lord Antaryon again asked,

  
  


Jon glanced at him and tried to ground his enthusiasm. "Roughly putting a figure I need sum close to thirty million" 

  
  


Oberyn to the far side of the staircase was chortling. Ashara was dumbfounded by his demands. _Did he actually think he would be able to acquire that sum of money?_

  
  
  


"This is unacceptable" Bessaro Reyaan burst out. "Do you want to empty the vaults of the bank, boy?" 

  
  


"Is he insane?" Someone was bold enough to say that, 

Jon knew very well even if it wasn't anything close to a quarter of the wealth the Iron Bank hosted nevertheless such an amount was just not possible. At least to a single person. King or Prince, didn't matter. Even to say just for the sake of paperwork alone would consume a lot of time.

  
  


"I understand your concerns my lords and ladies still the fact remains it you can not contribute some coins then you can't expect me to return"

"Some coins? Some? Thirty million gold is some to you boy?"

"Why, yes my lord. Engaging in a war in an already war torn kingdom, hiring swords, medicals, helping the commoners, buying the allegiance all needs golds. Excessive amount. So yes, thirty million." Jon reasoned, "Besides I am willing to issue the loan on myself and House Targaryen alone unlike in case of Robert Baratheon where the debts belong to the Iron Throne and whoso-ever sits on that chair must pay them." _If I fail, my dragon is yours_ Jon was projecting. He was more than willing to gamble with his dragon. Jon had plans to back it up when he gets what he wanted tonight. _Hope of ill-gain is the beginning of loss_. Princess Arianne had told him while playing Cyvasse.

"Thirty million gold dragons are not affordable" the nobles voiced, hesitantly. Unsure between golds and a dragon.

Jon looked at Sea Lord and said,"I never asked for gold only" Lord Antaryon peered at him with raised brows for a moment before realisation hit him, "Besides the hundreds isles, Braavos is known for its ships and hidden knives"

  
  
  


For a little while Ashara didn't understand what he meant and then she perceived his words. He's talking about the _Arsenal_ _of Braavos_ and the _House of Black and White_. Ashara was slowly understanding that Daemon had expected to get refused and offer other demands instead. Just in a short span of a few hours Ashara saw the sky and sea difference between Daemon and Viserys. What the boy was achieving tonight alone was more than Rhaella had ever accomplished in all her exile. _Did Arthur raise him like this if so then why I am feeling cold shudder by just looking at him?_ Daemon's mere purple eyes were petrifying Ashara. 

  
  
  


Lord Antaryon narrowed his eyes upon his announcement. The Sea Lord paused for a long while before answering, "The Iron Bank and the council agrees your request" Jon was surprised by his admission but the Lord added, "if only you agree to confiscate the isle north of this palace in exchange for a piece of land in _Fingers"_

  
  


_Fingers?_ Jon reflected his memories and cast around for lands named Fingers. _Ahh, yes the narrow peninsulas of the northeastern Vale of Arryn which extended into both the narrow sea and shivering sea._ Jon realised it was very close to Braavos as well. He recalled the land belonged to House…. Baelish? _Speaking of Baelish there was someone named Petyr Baelish serving in Robert's council meeting._ Could the land belong to the same Baelish? If so then something is queer.

  
  
  


_The isle north of the Sea Lord palace for the peninsulas of Vale, huh?_ Jon pondered for a moment. _If I were to think normally this is a huge perquisite…_ Knowing that Fingers were barren and stony Islands. Nothing productive like the unnamed isle Lord Antaryon was speaking. However Jon had already known nothing in life comes easy as that. _Why would the Sea Lord be this generous to me?_ It couldn't be just for the sole reason Lord Antaryon wanted to establish a port across the narrow sea. It unquestionably should not be because the Sea Lord appreciated him killing Tormo Fregar either. If Jon was in the Sea Lord's place then he would have already _deposed_ the hammer that hit the anvil. Lord Antaryon would have done the same but he didn't. Jon explored all the possible reasons why. 

_Giving me the island and asking for some lands in Westeros is just not as simple as giving a normal land. In Westeros when a King gives a commoner a piece of land it signifies the commoner in the ranks of nobility that is not to say the lands belonging to Braavos itself is very expensive even if it's just a isle with or without any civilians residing in it. You can not give a land of Braavos without appointing him as one of their own. In other words he's making me a keyholder of Braavos henceforth limiting me in the affairs of Braavos and asking himself to be a lord of Westeros._

  
  


_Since Lord Antaryon has given it to me with such pressure, there is no way I could refuse it or else I would not gain the loan from the Iron Banks furthermore I need the support of Braavos itself if I were ever to sit on the Iron Throne._ Jon sighed _. I guess it couldn't be helped_ . In order to refuse the Sea lord a piece of land in Westeros he needed a very explainable reason which he could not think of any at the given moment _._ The Tattered Prince was staring at him with expectation. _He's dreaming of Pentos, still._ Jon rolled his eyes and glanced at Lord Antaryon. He looked stiff and aloof. No any emotions shown on his face. _If he makes the decision to make me, a foreigner with the tainted blood of dragonlords, a keyholder in this kind of situation upsetting a lot of keyholders then there must be some reasons behind it._

  
  
  


_Clever_. Jon admitted after a while. In absence of any apprehension, Sea Lord Ferrego Antaryon pinned the rank of Keyholder onto Jon by giving him a land nearest to his castle and was buying himself the rank of nobility of Westeros. Jon could even say Lord Antaryon was keeping his promise of supporting him for the Iron Bank loans and helping Braavos to expand further in trading but the thing was not what reached the eye.

  
  


Lord Antaryon's regime as the reigning Sea lord was still highly unstable regardless of Tormo Fregar mysterious death. Opposed to Jon's expectations the turmoil in Braavos only increased. _He needs my help._ Jon concluded. The Windblown were the most feared mercenary in Essos currently and now with the presence of his dragon everyone present in the council knew his power and not to forget he could potentially be the next ruler of Westeros. In the general run of things Lord Antaryon pressing a land onto Jon and expecting small lands in return would not only fulfill the promise he made but also it would send a clear message to all the conflicting keyholders and noblemens opposed to the Sea Lord that Jon is in fact his ally. _And if, assuming I were to win the throne someday he could climb the ladders swiftly and stretch his supremacy on both sides of the narrow sea._

  
  


_I see… he desires to use my power_. As the Sealord he outright cannot admit that he might need help in advance. After all, the nobility always has their pathetic pride.

  
  


_Before anything else I need to consider about the Fingers. If this Petyr Baelish is in Robert's council then he must have considerable power himself_ . _I need to know more before committing._ On second thoughts, Jon questioned why would Lord Antaryon specifically wanted Fingers? As far as Jon knew it was just a brazen land. The Gull Town of Vale was the trading city of Vale. Besides the Fingers there were other productive isles as well closer to Braavos if the Sea Lord was only thinking about length between the two isles for the trading ships to pass back and forth on an almost daily basis. Jon was really suspecting something.

Jon was taking longer time to respond. The nobles and merchants were expecting his answer. From the start, he had devised to exploit the Sea Lord under favourable conditions for him and seeing now he managed to proceed this far he could not very well refuse the Sea Lord.

_I am not giving you whatever you want._ Jon gritted his teeth. "I would have agreed to confiscate the isle north of this palace in exchange for Fingers however" Jon bowed a bit to hide his smile. _You really think you can win against me?_ "my hands are tied much like everyone of yours." Murmurs began and Lord Antaryon for the first time showed visible confusion across his features. "My uncle Viserys and my aunt Daenerys Targaryen are forced against their will to tie with House Maegyr by Triarch Molaquo Maegyr of Volantis" Jon raised his voice, "The same Triarch who in my expedition for last six moons has been flourishing slavery across the shivering sea. The same Triarch who now controls all of Volantis is scheming to repeal my claim to the Iron Throne and stake his bloodline on the throne. Until and unless we end him together none of us can truly prosper'' Jon addressed the lords and ladies before him.

  
  


The wall of status lores by the differences and hatred between Braavos and Volantis was very high. He was exploiting their hatred. Jon was planning to repeat Myr and Tyrosh in Volantis and Lord Antaryon realised that.

  
  


The attack of Tyrosh and Myr was not as simple as one thought. The strength of all three free cities can be said to be almost equal with each other. Lys had originally hired the Windblown to defend the paradise city from the Company of Cat and Second Sons rather than to attack the two quarrelsome sisters. The original plan of the stolen ships was just a hoax by Lysene magistrates to defend the city. Over the centuries, their rivalries have been many, and the squabbles and wars between them could and do fill volumes but despite continuous skirmishes at the borders of each city, none of the city have launched a massive assault like the Windblown did. Even the Lysene were horrified.

After defending the borders of Lys twice from Second Sons Jon had realised the longer he stayed in defense the less the chances of him surviving because the so called 'wars' amongst Tyrosh, Lys, and Myr have not only fueled the births of the free companies in the Disputed Lands but have brought about the formation of fleets of pirates and seaborne mercenaries as well, sell sails ready to fight for whoever will pay. Most are based in the Stepstones, the isles that dot the narrow sea between the Broken Arm and the eastern coast.

  
  


Thus, keeping in mind to stomp every obstruction in his path and establish a base, Jon had proposed the Tattered Prince to turn their attention towards either the Free Cities of Myr or Tyrosh whilst the Prince were deciding to invade Pentos first after leaving Lys.

  
  


Tattered Prince who was the leader of Windblown had presented a solution to some of the unyielding magistrates of Lys who were sick of the three way prolonged war which had continued for centuries. Each city had understood that if two cities were to engage in all out war, the third city would be the one to benefit the most from it. So each one was eagerly waiting for the day but Magisters like Torreon Hayne and Matteno Orthys were sick of waiting for that day moreover they gave their consent to launch an attack on its neighbour cities.

  
  


Much like Hayne and Orthys there were also nobles in Braavos who were fed up with Volantis and their form of slavery and now with the last straw of comprehension of truth that their rival volantine could very well end up influencing their loans in seven kingdoms if Viserys were to sit on the throne made them erupt. 

  
  
  


The Sealord schemed the decision where Jon has to remain confined with the city given his status and his dragon. He wished for Jon to remain in the city. However, Jon ended up influencing the Braavosi keyholders to a war. The Sea lord was helpless in such a case not even the Iron Bank had a say in this matter. 

  
  


Likewise, the keyholders and merchants who currently own their money to the Iron bank and by extension the Iron Throne, can't object to the Sea Lord's decision. If they without second thoughts voiced their mind, the present situation of the bank that was already insubstantial for the matter would end up crumbling down. And, neither could they force the Iron Bank to pay them back their money. To surface more misery the Iron Bank will open to anyone like a whore would open her legs to the paymaster. _And I am a renowned whoremonger._ Jon smirked.

  
  


In brief summary, the keyholders, the Iron Bank and the Sea Lord all know they are letting a poisonous snake in their yard and they could not stop it. One raises their hand, the other reproaches. The change in balance. They were all forced and the best thing for Jon was they knew it and yet they could not do anything. Something about making people dance on his palm against their will made Jon ecstatic. Especially if they are nobles with a sense of superiority. It made Jon feel strong in taking away their freedom to refuse. Jon was failing to see the madness building inside him. His hatred toward those holding authority, and those privileged class was blinding him and slowly turning himself as one of them. _Where's your supremacy now, huh? Can't stop me?_ Jon had to suppress his laughter.

  
  


Braavos was on the verge of collapse. Or for the matter, any of the free cities. All because of Jon. He had terrorised the free cities so much that he himself for better or worse didn't know the full extent. Uproar Volantis, burnt Tyrosh and Myr, expanded a brainwashed army, established domination over Braavos and trading cartels, and each city had affected the other. _Was there anything else I missed?_ Jon thought amusedly. In the end, the Sea Lord was forced to agree to Jon's stipulation.

  
  


_Molaquo, I am about to pay your debts._ Jon said inside his head. _In the meanwhile I shall think of what you saw in the fingers, Lord Antaryon._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't know what the hell I smoked while thinking about this chapter. It got dragged way longer that it should have to a point that I don't even want to talk about it. 25K+ words. Forget the grammar. Fuck grammerly and thesaurus. 
> 
> On the first go I wanted to add Val in place of Dalla but for some reasons I settled over Dalla. The wildlings are for the later chapters when Jon reaches Westeros. 
> 
> So Ashara and Jon meets. Both don't assume highly of one another. 
> 
> The Iron Bank and the Sea Lord took the fattest L.
> 
> The story of raven was inspired by the original story of a pigeon and bar I have read somewhere, can't recall RN.
> 
> A bit of Bible reference were put in case of Mother mole and salvation.
> 
> Prince Oberyn reasons to arrive in Braavos is yet to be revealed.
> 
> Brusco was a simple fishmonger in the original story. I made him underground mafia here.
> 
> Lord Imp and Lady Stark are chilling in the mountains of Vale. Ned shitting in the dungeons. Bobby B is sadly no more with us. Mannis is gritting his teeth. Robb is calling his 🅱️anners..and other canon things you are aware about.
> 
> Viserys had Volantis now Daemon has Braavos.
> 
> Oh and yeah, Fingers...
> 
> Remember Tyra Rogare in previous chapters? 
> 
> Okay fuck, goodbye, AOT ep 69 is airing RN. Gotta go. Keep vibing with Cannibal corpse.


	24. Regrets

**Arthur**

  
  


They found the golden company organised beside the river as the sun was surging from the east. The broad sunshine emerging out of the range of vision. The golden company pitched tents two miles north of the rebuilding harbour of Myr. The road steered north beneath the remnants of the high ivory walls of Myr. Arthur had come to the lags of the city with hundred-foot soldiers of Triarch Molaquo and his loud obnoxious grandson, Nyestros Maegyr. 

Arthur was harshly upset by his sister's abrupt parting. Queen Rhaella insisted she had sent his sister to Starfall. Arthur was bemused as to why Ashara didn't think it was crucial to tell him about her leaving. It seemed to him Queen Rhaella was concealing something but he just couldn't ask why.

He trotted his mount toward the base where striking tents were protruding from the ground. Lord Nyestros Maegyr was beside him. They had left Pentos a sennight afterwards after Ashara's departure. 

In the course of his stay in Pentos, Arthur got acquainted with Princess Daenerys. King Viserys for the most part was engaged with Triarch Molaquo and Queen Rhaella had alienated herself from him. From Princess Daenerys, Arthur learnt a considerable deal about their exile. The princess was a breath of fresh air amidst all the disorder and chaos running with his life.

  
  


The impending arrival of Dothraki was the paramount provenience. It was the reason why they needed to earn over the golden company more than anything. However, Arthur was also conscious whatever the sires or the grandsires of the golden company might have been back in Westeros before their exile, the men of the company were sell-swords now, and no sellsword could be trusted. He was bemused. But as a Kingsguard, he was deemed worthy to accomplish the task he was bestowed upon. _To win over the company._ Meanwhile, Triarch Molaquo was trying to locate Magister Illyrio Mopatis. The owner of the manse was still missing. Arthur was heavily dismayed by King Viserys. He was beyond horrified and disheartened when he learnt the King was willing to peddle Princess Daenerys to a Dothraki horse lord in hopes to gain an army. It was even more depressing being how irreproachable and angelic the princess truly was. He would not let her be sold like that. 

  
  
  


The camp was beginning to stir. It was a camp Arthur Dayne approved of; condense, methodical and unassailable. A shallow trench had been dug around it, with inner edged pledges. The tents strutted in rows, with sweeping paths between them. The privies had been placed beside the waterfront, so the current would wash away the debris. The horse lines were to the east, and beyond them, two dozen elephants grazed beside the water, pulling up reeds with their trunks. Tall battle standards of cloth-of-gold fluttered atop rhetorical rods along the ledges of the camp. Beneath them, armed and armoured sentries walked their rounds with spears and crossbows, watching every approach. 

As they caught up with the camp, he rushed from his mount; a big brown gelding so dark that he was almost black. As he looked around the camp he noted men were peering at him with slight interest. It was within reason seeing that he was clad in a traditional kingsguard armour. It felt good to bear the white cloak and silver coloured armour plate and his sword _Dawn_ fastened at his strap. 

  
  


At the anteroom, Lord Nyestros Maegyr had the sergeant of guards know who they were and requested an audience with the leader of the company in urgency. Marking a hundred in scores they were not rebuffed and their request immediately complied and a runner was sent off to find a captain. 

  
  


A few moments later, a homely, big-bellied, shambling hulk of a man came to them. The sellsword had a seamed face crisscrossed with old scars. His right ear looked as if a dog had munched on it and his left was missing. 

"My lord, it is my honour to meet you" the man expressed, "I am Tyrstan Flowers" _So this was the man the Triarch was speaking of._

"I am Nyestros Maegyr and this is Ser Arthur Dayne" Nyestros introduced them, "I trust grandfather had told you about us"

"For sure, my lord. Triarch Molaquo Maegyr had me aware of your arrival"

"Flowers is a bastard name. You’re from the Reach?” Arthur asked the man.

"Aye. My mother was a washerwoman at Cider Hall till one of the milord’s sons raped her. Makes me a sort o’ brown apple Fossoway, the way I see it.” Flowers waved them through the gate.

"Follow me, my lord. Strickland has called all the officers to his tent." The homely man said, "and the Griffin and his goose are also there" _Jon_ _Connigton is here._ Arthur thought with apprehension.

  
  


The men of the Golden Company were outside their tents, dicing, drinking, and swatting away flies. The captain-general’s tent was made of cloth-of-gold and encircled by a ring of javelins crowned with gilded heads. One head was larger than the rest, grotesquely malformed. Below it was a second, no larger than a child’s fist. Maelys the Monstrous and his nameless brother. The other skulls had a sameness to them, though several had been broken and burst by the blows that had slain them, and one had filed, pointed teeth. 

"There. In the end.” Flowers indicated. “Wait. I’ll go announce it to you.” He slipped inside the tent.

All the skulls were grinning, even Bittersteel, on the tall pike in the centre.

"Why is he grinning?" Nyestros asked no one in particular. "He died defeated and alone, a broken man in an alien land" It was a well-known fact that on his deathbed, Ser Aegor Rivers had famously bidden his men to boil the flesh from his skull, dip it in gold, and carry it before them when they crossed the sea to regain Westeros. His successors had followed his example.

"The bloody Volantene are clattering their spears and demanding to know our intentions.” Someone said inside the tent. 

Flowers stepped out of the tent, embarrassed. “Go on in.” They slipped inside the tent.

  
  


The high officers of the Golden Company rose from stools and camp chairs as they entered. 

  
  


Ser Trystan did the introductions. Some of the sellsword captains bore bastard names, as Flowers did: Rivers, Hill, Stone. 

Others claimed names that had once loomed large in the histories of the Seven Kingdoms; Arthur counted two Strongs, three Peakes, a Mudd, a Mandrake, a Lothston, a pair of Coles.

The most striking person was Jon Connigton himself. Arthur who’d ridden with him had a hard time recognizing the exiled lord Jon Connington of the fiery red beard in the lined, clean-shaved face and dyed blue hair of the sellsword, Griff. The boy beside him wore a sword and blade, black boots polished to a high sheen, a black cloak lined with blood-red silk. With his hair trimmed and washed freshly deep, dark blue, his eyes looked blue as well. At his throat, he wore three massive square-cut rubies on a string of black iron. _Red and black. Dragon colours. He looks like a proper prince_. Arthur mused. 

  
  


Not every captain was of Westerosi blood. Black Balaq, a white-haired Summer Islander with skin dark as soot, commanded the company’s archers, as in Blackheart’s day. He scraped a feathered cloak of green and orange, magnificent to behold.

  
  


The commander of the company Harry Strickland looked nothing like a warrior. Bulky, with a big circle head, mild grey eyes, and thinning hair that he brushed sideways to conceal a bald spot, Strickland sat on a camp stool. “You will pardon me if I do not rise,” he said by way of greeting. “Our march was wearisome, and my toes are prone to blisters. It is a curse.”

"No need for that. We understand your situation" Nyestros replied graciously.

Strickland seemed pleased with the answer and beckoned to his squire. 

“Watkyn, wine for our friends.”

Arthur had his eyes fixed on Jon Connigton the entire time and the Griffin was doing the same. It was an awkward term for both of them. Undoubtedly, each had a couple of questions of their own.

Nyestros proudly introduced himself and his family's bloodline. Strickland only so much as smiled at the enthusiasm displayed by the youth. Almost as amused as a man would seeing at little children's play.

  
  


"You must be the acclaimed Ser Arthur Dayne," Harry Strickland asked him after Nyestros was done boasting. It must have hurt the boy's pride with the way the commander rubbed him off.

  
  


But before Arthur could respond the boy beside Jon Connigton interrupted, startled. "Arthur Dayne? As in the Sword of the Morning?"

"The very one" Jon Connigton nodded gazing at him roughly.

"It is nice to see you again, Lord Connigton" Arthur greeted his old friend, not unkindly. "I see the rumours of your death were greatly exaggerated." _'Connington had drunk himself to death in Lys after being driven from the company in disgrace for stealing from the war chest'_ was the rumours about his demise.

"I am unable to say the same about you" Lord Connigton gruffly replied. Arthur knew Jon Connigton had wished he were more than only a friend with Rhaegar. Connigton held an immense love for his silver prince. He would not be happy to see the Prince's closest friend, that would be Arthur much to the other lord's dismay, standing in front of him while Rhaegar lay dead for well over sixteen years now. "And yes up until quite recently, most of the men in here had believed that I was safely in my grave, and no doubt many felt that was a fine place for me, a man who would supposedly steal from his brothers-in-arms. I also would have felt the same way in their place. Turncoats have no honour in my eyes." Arthur didn't miss the intended slight.

His eyes went hard. Jon Connigton without a shadow of a doubt held him in contempt for raising a Stark's bastard in the home of Lady Lyanna. _He would do well not to speak of Daemon._

  
  


"Now, now we would not want to get on that topic, would we?" Strickland offhandedly commented,

Arthur sipped his served drink and instead of reacting watched the boy who was looking at him with an awestruck face. "And who might this be?"

Lord Connigton wavered to answer. 

"Even I would like to know. This must be his son.” Harry Strickland guessed. Although his tone flat out suggested he knew the answer meaning the other officers or at the least some were not aware of the boy's true identity. _Better like a fake name on top of another fake name._

  
  


"No man could have asked for a worthier son,” Griff said after a juncture. Finally accepting he needed to reveal. “but the lad is not of my blood, and his name is not Young Griff. My lords, I give you Aegon Targaryen, the firstborn son of Rhaegar, Prince of Dragonstone, by Princess Elia of Dorne … soon, with your help, to be Aegon, the Sixth of His Name, King of Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.”

A quietness loomed the tent…. for a while, that was until Nyestros let out a jovial howling of laughter. One of the Coles refilled his wine cup from the flagon. Laswell Peake coughed, Mandrake and Lothston exchanged a glance. _They already know_ , Arthur realized and when he glimpsed at Connington he understood even the Griffin lord was unaware they had known all along.

"How did you know? The plans that I and Illyrio had made with Blackheart had been known to us alone. The rest of the company had been left ignorant. What the rest did not know they could not let slip" the Griffin demanded of Harry Strickland. _So Triarch Molaquo was correct to say Illyrio and Varys were working together with Jon Connigton._

The captain-general rasped "It seems my dear old friend you forget who you are talking to. I am Harry Strickland. Although I might've seen age now, I am still a Strickland. The Stricklands had been part of the Golden Company since its founding, my great-grandsire having lost his lands when he rose with the _Black Dragon_ during the First Blackfyre Rebellion. Do you think me so naive and ignorant that I wouldn't know what pact you made with Myles Toyne."

  
  


Griffin looked at the other officers cautiously. "When did you tell them?"

"When we left Volantis. The company was restless,.... with good reason. We stepped away from a painless campaign in the Norvos and for what? So we could swelter in this god-awful heat of Myr watching our coins thaw away and our blades go to corrode whilst I turn away rich contracts?”

"Who?" Connigton frowned,

"The Windblown, who else. Myr has sent us an envoy to woo us." The captain answered. Arthur understood the 'good reason' Captain Strickland speaking of was the dread the uprising company of Windblown was surfacing across the free cities.

"Do Myr even have coins to support you up?" Connigton inquired,

"No, they don't" The Lyseni spymaster named Lysono Maar resolved. His lilac eyes and white-gold hair and lips would have been the envy of a whore. At first glance, Arthur had almost taken him for a woman. His fingernails were painted purple, and his earlobes dripped with pearls and amethysts.

  
  


“I take it you refused them,” Griff reckoned.

  
  


“I told them I would think about their proposal,” Harry let out sipping his drink. "Such a fine wine. A Myrish vintage. Tis' a shame the supply is running at an all-time low. Another blow to the Myrish trade." After taking a long swig he said, "A blunt refusal on my part would have been unwise. The men might rightly or wrongly ask if I had taken leave of my wits. They are more than excited to face the Windblown,

  
  


"The Tattered Prince's Windblown sure is causing waves around" The captain-general dejectedly sighed. 

  
  


"I would have done the same in the Tattered Prince's place." Jon Connigton grudgingly confessed. "The quarrelsome daughters of Valyria reek of gold, and conquest requires coin. But why linger? Fear? Madness? Idleness? The wait is all people do"

“It does not matter.” Harry Strickland unrolled a pair of striped woollen stockings. “The Windblown are in Braavos and we are here, where the Myrish grows daily more anxious with our presence. We came to raise a war, but this Windblown seems more intent on running far away from us." 

"What do they even have to match us? A low ranking mercenary who unexpectedly leapt higher after sacking two cities and enfolding another low ranking mercenary. We are the Golden Company. _Our word is as good as gold. And beneath that gold the bitter steel."_ The Westerosi exiled knight Marq Mandrake boasted. Marq Mandrake, whose pox-scarred face had a hole in one cheek where a slave’s mark had been burned away, wore a chain of golden skulls. Arthur was skeptical if he was a member of House Mandrake.

" _Dragons_ " Black Balaq bluntly put. Arthur also had heard the tales of dragons. Whether it was true or not, he could not assert. However, the whimpers of R'hllor, dragons and the Windblown was the only element sprinting across the free cities at the moment.

  
  


“Dragons, aye,” the captain-general said, “but a fool's tale, hardly more than believable.” Strickland beckoned his squire to fill another glass. "How much would such false tales avail when all our army would tight about them like a fist?” 

  
  


Tristan Rivers beat his fingers on his knee. Arthur noted like many in their trade, the officers of the golden company had kept their worldly wealth upon their persons: jewelled swords, inlaid armour, heavy torcs, and fine silks were much in evidence, and every man there wore a lord’s ransom in golden arm rings. Each ring signified one year’s service with the Golden Company. “All the more reason that we must reach them with haste, I say. If Tattered Prince will not come to us, we must go to him.”

"We can't attack them on Braavos," Lysono Maar warned. “I tell you again, we cannot reach the Pentoshi Prince by sea. I had once slipped into Braavos myself, posing as a trader, to learn how many ships might be available to us. The harbour teems with galleys, cogs, and carracks of every sort and size, but unlike Volantis I scarcely found myself consorting with bootleggers and pirates. We have ten thousand men in the company, as I am sure Lord Connington remembers from his years of service with us. Five hundred knights, each with three horses. Five hundred squires, with one mount apiece. And elephants, we must not forget the elephants. A trading ship will not suffice. We would need a fleet … no, a pirate fleet to be precise for an affordable price and even if we found one, the Braavosi won't allow one. Words have come back from Braavos that the Sea Lord has even hired the Windblown to hunt down pirates. I am sure as the sun would dawn that the coast of Braavos has been closed off by blockade."

  
  


"Then stop pursuing the company." Griffin proposed instead, "I was a part of this corporation. I had spent five years with the company, rising from the ranks to a place of honour at Toyne’s right hand. Had I waited, might well have been me the men turned to after Myles died, rather than Homeless Harry here," Before the captain-general could retort, Jon Connigton lifted his hand and continued, "But to my understanding, the company came to raise the descendants of the Black Dragon, Daemon Blackfyre, as kings who would lead _us_ home to Westeros. So far none accomplished. But here you have a rightful heir. Take him to his family and unite them. Not all noble houses in Westeros accost the usurping stag as their monarch. Nearly half of Westeros would acknowledge Prince Aegon as Rhaegar's heir," _Aerys' heir, not Rhaegar. Rhaegar was never the King. And his heir is dead._ Arthur pondered with a heavy sentiment. _That makes Viserys as Aerys' only heir._

"I am the only dragon that you need" The lad beside Lord Jon Connigton expressed.

Jon Connigton sighted at Arthur expectedly. _So he supposes I am here to address the boy as Rhaegar and Elia's son._ _How oversight of him._

"Like I said I left the company. No, I feigned death. For the prince. But I did not regret the path I'd preferred. When I return to Westeros, it will not be as a skull atop a shaft. But it would be with retaking of the Iron Throne and my home, Griffin Roost"

Nyestros snorted which Griff didn't skip. "You look amused by my opinion, my lord. I noticed you laughed well when I introduced the prince"

"You delude yourself, Lord Connigton" Nyestros replied with an insouciant shrug of his shoulder.

  
  


"Oh, do I? How so, my lord?" 

  
  


"Fourteen take you, Aegon Targaryen you say" Nyestros answered impolitely, chuckling."He is no Targaryen"

"What did you say?" The youth who believed himself as Rhaegar's son spoke heatedly strutting from his seat. 

"Whatever you heeded boy" Nyestros was not backing either. "You are even more tainted than the Blackfyres. You are the farthest thing from being a royal. A son of whore and a swindler is all you are" 

"Why, you" Jon Connigton stood from his seat. His hands reaching his sword belt. The boy had already unsheathed his blade. The orange-haired brawny man behind the boy also took out his axe. Seeing a fight was about to break, Arthur in a flashing pace freed his sword and cut down the table before him in half. No one else dared to make another move.

"Could you elaborate on what you are saying, my lord?" Harry Strickland requested Nyestros after the tension lessened.

"There's nothing, as to, elaborate. He" Nyestros pointed at the boy, "is no son of Prince Rhaegar"

"And by what fact do you say that? Have you ever met the prince?" Jon Connigton was about to flare.

"But I sure have." Arthur joined, "Not to say I am the closest person in this room who knows Prince Rhaegar" That would sting the Griff. "And believe when I say he is not Rhaegar's son"

"You shut your damn mouth you worthless traitor" Lord Connigton cried out,

Arthur calmly took out a scroll and passed it to the captain-general Harry Strickland. 

"This is a letter penned by Queen Rhaella Targaryen." Arthur had everyone in the tent known. He swivelled towards Connigton, "Are you going to deny her as well?"

Griff kept his mouth shut and glared at him with fierce stares. The boy arose bewildered and discomforted.

As the Captain began to read, Arthur announced, "The reason I say he's no son of Rhaegar is that Rhaegar bore no any son with Elia, only a daughter" _Princess Rhaenys._ In his memories, Arthur remembered a very Dornish looking lively child. Raven strand of hair and eyes, and olive skin. 

"What do you mean Rhaegar bore Elia no son? You lie. You are envious that I raised Rhaegar's son and raised him like a King" The cruel irony was not lost upon Arthur. 

He felt like letting out a mouthful laugh but instead, Arthur smiled, "Is this what you tell yourself every night before you sleep? Is this what Lord Varys compelled you to believe" The mention of Varys made Griff pause. He had not revealed the share of the eunuch yet.

"Wh… How?"

After finishing the letter the Captain-general passed the paper towards Jon Connigton. The man took the sheet wiggling and read inside. His manifestation shifted with each bit he read. By the moment he wrapped up everything in the letter written by Queen Rhaella he came off stupefied and shattered. 

"Jon, what is it?" The lad implored but Connigton didn't respond, "Jon what did Grandmother write?" Seeing as Griff felt apathetic the lad snatched the note from his hands and read.

  
  


"The plan…." Lord Connigton whispered, "The plan was to reveal Prince Aegon only when we attained Queen Rhaella and I have been trying to locate her for nearly ten years now," He mumbled, "deepest appreciation to that fat fool in Pentos," _He played you good, Jon. He played you well._ Arthur pitied the Griffin Lord.

  
  


"Jon…." The lad came across busted. 

  
  


"Arthur" Griff called him after a while, "last night I dreamt of _Stoney Sept_ again." _Ah, yes. Stone Sept. Your greatest failure._ "Alone, with a sword in my hand, I ran from house to house, smashing down gates and doors, jogging upstairs, swooping from ceilings to ceilings, as my ears whizzed to the noise of distant bells. Thick bronze booms and silver chiming thumped through my skull, a maddening clamour of noise that grew ever louder until it seemed as if my head would explode" the Griffin expressed lost, there was melancholy hanging on his manner. "Seventeen years had come and gone since the _Battle of the Bells_ , yet the sound of bells ringing still tied a knot in my guts. The singers could sing that the realm was lost when Prince Rhaegar fell to Robert’s Warhammer on the Trident all they want, but the Battle of the Trident would have never been fought if only I had slain the Usurper there in Stoney Sept" He drew a sharp breath, "You know Arthur, the most painful thing to feel is not defeat…..but _regret._ " Arthur felt as if he'd been drowned in cold water. "Regret for the things we attain can be cooled by time; it is regret for the things we failed to do, that is inconsolable." Connigton dejectedly asserted which struck Arthur hard.

  
  


It was always better to regret something you have done than to regret something you haven't done. Arthur knew that. Yet there was this suffering surging deep in his soul, this regret and guilt and sorrow, try as he might, he couldn't let go. _I failed Rhaegar and I failed his son as well._

  
  


"Remorse is the venom of life my friend" Strickland advised wisely,

"I surmise so" Jon Connigton nodded, "I had lied about my death. I faked a dishonourable act." _I did the same._ Arthur recalled the cold glimpses he was granted by the Northern lords during Winterfell's harvest feast and the open hospitality he was shown by the Dornish when he marched to Sunspear. "The shame of the lie still stuck in my craw, but Varys had insisted it was essential. _'We want no songs about the gallant exile_ ,' the eunuch had tittered, in that mincing voice of his. _'Those who die heroic deaths are long remembered, thieves and drunks and cravens are soon forgotten'_ ,

"I ask all of you what does a eunuch know of a man’s honour? I shamelessly had gone along with the Spider’s scheme for the boy’s sake, but that did not mean I liked it any better. I reminded myself to let me live long enough to see the boy sit the Iron Throne, and Varys would pay for that slight and so much more. Then we’ll see who’s soon forgotten." He tsked himself. "The gods hate me"

"Jon, what are you saying?" The boy sounded fragile.

Lord Connigton turned toward the boy. He gazed at him longingly. "Ever since I knew about him I told myself that it was my task to put him on the Iron Throne. I had failed Prince Rhaegar once. I promised myself I would not fail his son, not whilst life remained in my body." _You and I are the same, Connington._

"Prince Rhaegar's son is…… _dead_ " Arthur coldly reminded the Griffin. Connigton bobbed his head weakly. His eyes were moist. Arthur comprehended the pain. He could understand what Connigton was feeling right now. To raise a child acknowledging him as your dear friend's son, grow attached to the child and to whom you profess to place on his rightful seat someday. Only to never achieve the promise and experience the unbearable pain in losing the child. Arthur could feel it. "But his younger brother lives on. King Viserys'' Arthur presented, aloof. _I am a Kingsguard. I can not any longer think of bygones._

  
  


_'Viserys is all that could be wanted in a King.'_ Nyestros had said. Although Arthur himself didn't believe that. _No, no, no. I am a Kingsguard. I have to serve my King. I need to make them see Viserys in a good light. Connington, Strickland and the rest. These are to be his men._ Arthur told himself.

"A noble, wise and most importantly trueborn is what King Viserys is. Contrary to this boy" Arthur indifferently voiced gesturing at Young Griff. "who is tainted by the blood of Blackfyre and is not anywhere near worthy to be considered a King" Connigton had the look as though someone had slapped him in his face.

  
  


The boy looked horror-struck.

  
  


"I raised this boy as if he were my own son" Connigton admitted, 

"You didn't raise him, Jon. You merely carried the burden." Arthur reminded him.

  
  


For a moment, Griff studied something on his eyes and then slapped the hilt of his long-sword with a gloved hand. “Yes, you are right. I am so nauseous of covering, sick of waiting, ill of caution. I have danced to the fat man’s pipes for years, Arthur. Enough from the cheesemonger. I came to the camp of the golden company to rally the sword for Aegon's cause, whom I believe was Rhaegar's trueborn. Arthur, if what you say is true then I will not take him as Rhaegar's son" Connigton deadpanned. His eyes once full of life were now dead. "I believe you for the reason that the Arthur I knew would never be unfaithful to the silver prince."

"Jon, what are you speaking?" Young Griff was in a daze from shock. 

“I like it. Leave the little boy to himself, and seat Prince Viserys upon the Iron Throne." Franklyn Flowers laughed. "Why not, Viserys is King Aerys and Queen Rhaella's only living son while this boy is not even Prince Rhaegar's son. Without Queen Rhaella, the lords will only mock the boy's claim and brand him a fraud and a pretender. I am confident none of us wants another blackfyre rebellion,"

"Has the sun curdled your brains, Flowers?" Harry Strickland implored, "How do you propose to get to Westeros? You heard Lysono. There are no ships to be had. We do not have the strength to take the realm without an army. We are but only ten thousand swords.”

_This man is afraid to fight_ , Arthur realized. _Rightly so._

"The Triarch Molaquo would be glad to see the back of us, I do not doubt. He might even help us arrange passage back to the Seven Kingdoms." Flowers suggested eagerly,

  
  


"My grandsire Triarch Molaquo Maegyr has five thousand swords of the Tiger faction at his command" Nyestros proudly announced, "King Viserys is to be married to my twin sister. You expect nothing but all assist from our part. We are together,"

  
  


"Robert Baratheon won the Iron Throne without the benefit of dragons. We can do the same. And if I am wrong and the realm does not rise for us, we can always retreat across the narrow sea, as Bittersteel once did, and others after him.” Gorys Edoryen, the company's paymaster, mumbled toying with one of his corkscrew ringlets. A leopard skin was draped across one shoulder, and hair as red as blood tumbled to his shoulders in oiled ringlets through his pointed beard was black.

As the other members began to advise Arthur chose to keep his mouth shut. Assuming them to be moths. _They are like moths. The desire of the moth for the star._

 _Ready to die for a light they crave but which is denied to them, shielded from them._ Arthur inferred there's a moth in everyone. _Everybody has a light which they think they cannot live without_

"Once we land and raise our banners, many and more will flock to join us.” Someone said amidst the approvals and enthusiasm, 

Arthur stomped his boot on the floor calling for everybody's attention. "The seven kingdoms is a matter to argue over some other day, my lords," _We require them in Pentos more than we prefer them in Westeros right now._ "for King Viserys needs you all in Pentos shortly as possible"

The men murmured amongst themselves. The Blackfyre boy was desperately calling them to aid him but Harry Strickland had already made his mind. "Fine, we accept your invitation for now but allow no one ever to say that the golden company left any assignment vacant."

  
  


"Excellent" Nyestros declared, "now then all we need to do is seize this impostor" He beckoned the young lad.

The large long-faced sour-looking man in light linen robes standing behind Lord Connington took out his axe. 

"There's but no necessity to attain anything to the boy" Jon Connigton cautioned, "Yollo put down your axe. I won't let any harm come to Young Griff"

"I trust you not" the man replied, 

"Listen to me, Yollo" Griff begged, "he may not be Rhaegar's boy as I had hoped but that doesn't make him meaningless"

"Jon…" the boy mumbled, stunned.

Lord Connigton revered around towards the boy, "Young Griff, I named you. I nurtured you like my own son. Dreamt every day to see you in the Iron Throne. So what, if you are not what I thought you were. It matters not. You are still important to me" His sound was heavy with despair.

The appreciation Arthur had for Jon Connigton heightened. _He didn't discern the boy as a tool and threw him when he served no purpose. His relationship with the boy is pure. Just like me and Daemon._ Arthur mused grimly, _which is why I must do this…_

As Jon Connigton and Young Griff were looking at each other with teary eyes. Arthur unleashed _Dawn_ and hastily steered the tip of the blade across the throat of the axe carrying brute. The Griffin lord stared at the sight of death with startled eyes. The boy screamed only to close down by the back of his hand. The members of the golden company distanced themselves away from him.

"Even if the affection you held for the pretender is admirable Lord Connigton," Nyestros said, smirking "however my grandfather has precisely ruled me to bring this boy….alive" 

* * *

  
  
  


**Ned Stark**

  
  


The darkness was overwhelming. He might as well have been blind. There was no daylight and no moonlight. The straw on the floor stank of urine. There was no window, no bed, not even a slop bucket. He could not recognize the sides. Ned closed his sights and opened them; it earned no distinction. He napped and rose and napped some more. He could not comprehend which was more unbearable, the waking or the sleeping.

The dungeon was under the Red Keep, lower than he dared to visualize. He memorized the historical tales about Maegor the Cruel, who slaughtered all the masons who endeavoured on his mansion, so they might never disclose its mysteries.

  
  


He could sense a sluggish twinge in his shattered leg, an itch beneath the dressing. When he touched his thigh, the flesh was hectic to his fingers. _Damn you, Kingslayer._ He recalled the white of Jaime’s smile— _“kill his men.”_ He could still see the Lannister's guards cut the legs from Jory’s mount and drag him to the earth, swords rising and falling as they closed in around him. When Ned’s horse lurched back to its feet, he tried to rise, only to fall again, choking on his scream. He could see the splintered bone poking through his calf. _Cat what have you done._ Jaime Lannister then fled from the Capital to join his father while Robert was hunting and Ned lay unconscious. 

  
  


_I failed you, Robert_ , Ned thought. He could not say the words. _I lied to you, hid the truth. I let them kill you._

It was not the boar that had torn the king from groin to nipple with its tusks that slew him. It was _Ned_. 

_Damn you, Robert_ . His leg was throbbing so painfully that he was almost sightless with pain. Or probably it was grief that clouded his eyes. He eased himself to the floor, beside his straw. _Why do you always have to be so headstrong?_

In his final hours, Robert admitted he was wrong, "The gods….had sent…...a boar to kill me for my crimes. That girl Daenerys, even Rhaenys….they did me no harm… yet I wanted them dead" 

  
  


On his deathbed, Robert had decreed Ned to write “This is the will and word of Robert of House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and all the rest—put in the damn titles, you know how it goes. I do hereby command Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King, to serve as Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm upon my. . . upon my death. . . to rule in my. . . in my stead, until my son Joffrey does come of age. . .” Ned wished to say Joffrey was not his son but felt it would better not to dishearten him in his last moments. Instead, he wrote Stannis in place of Joffrey. He was a clod to believe in Littlefinger and the gold cloaks. They had betrayed him at the last possible moment. _Damn them, damn them all to hell._ He'd sent half his own men with Lord Beric Dondarrion after Gregor Clegane to ensure King's peace and surround himself with Vipers.

  
  


“I will give Lyanna your love, Ned. Take care of my children for me.” The words twisted in Ned’s belly like a knife

He was so alone in the darkness that all he could remember were the memories and regrets slithering upon him in the darkness, as realistic as a dream. 

  
  


He took a trip down memory lane. He was living back again the year of false spring, and he was eighteen again, down from the Eyrie to the tourney at Harrenhal. He could behold the deep green of the grass, and breath in the pollen on the breeze. Warmer days and cool nights and the sweet taste of wine. Oh, the sweet wine Robert and Bran loved. He recalled Brandon’s laughter, and Robert’s berserk valour in the melee, the way he laughed as he unhorsed men left and right. Lyanna jogging horse like a centaur. Young Benjen's excitement. He thought of Jaime Lannister, a golden youth in scaled white armour, kneeling on the grass in front of the king’s pavilion and making his vows to protect and defend King Aerys. Afterwards, Ser Oswell Whent assisted Jaime to his feet, and the White Bull himself, Lord Commander Ser Gerold Hightower, clasped the icy cloak of the Kingsguard about his shoulders. All six White Swords were there to receive their newest brother. However, when the jousting began, the day was owned by Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. The crown prince donned the armour he would die in: a gleaming ebony plate with the three-headed dragon of his House wrought in rubies on the breast. An emblem of scarlet silk rained behind him when he galloped, and it looked like no lance could touch him. Brandon fell to him, and Bronze Yohn Royce, and even the splendid Ser Arthur Dayne. Robert had been jesting with Jon Arryn and old Lord Hoster as the prince circled the field after unhorsing Ser Barristan in the final tilt to claim the champion’s crown. Ned thought back to the moment when all the smiles died, when Prince Rhaegar Targaryen urged his horse past his wife, the Dornish princess Elia Martell, to lay the queen of beauty’s crown in Lyanna’s lap. He could see it still: a crown of winter roses, blue as frost. He had never pardoned Rhaegar for that. Ned reached out his hand to grab the flowery top, but beneath the pale blue petals, the thorns lay hidden. He felt them scratching at his skin, sharp and cruel, saw the slow trickle of blood run down his fingers, and woke, trembling, in the dark. _Promise me_ , _Ned,_ his sister had whispered from her mattress of blood. She had cherished the scent of winter roses. _A promise made is a debt unpaid._

“The old gods save me,” Ned moaned and wept. His leg was throbbing. “I am going mad.” _It makes my heart sick when I remember all the promising words and the broken promises_.

  
  


"Fool,” he cried to the darkness, “thrice-damned blind fool.”

"When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die,” Cersei Lannister had told him. Ned had played and lost, and his men had paid the price of his folly with their life’s blood.

The only sound was his soft breathing. After a time, he began to talk aloud, just to hear a voice. He made plans to keep himself sane, built forts of faith in the dark. Robert’s brothers were out in the world, raising armies at Dragonstone and Storm’s End. Alyn and Harwin would return to King’s Landing with the rest of his household guard once they had dealt with Ser Gregor. Catelyn would raise the north when the word reached her, and the lords of river and mountain and Vale would join her.

  
  


From outside his cage came the clatter of iron chains. As the door opened, Ned settled a hand to the wet wall and pushed himself toward the light. The glow of the torch made him squint his eyes. “Food,” he begged, 

" Wine" it replied, 

The voice was strangely friendly, yet it took Ned Stark a moment to place it. “Varys?” he mumbled, astonished. He caressed the man’s face. “I’m not. . . not dreaming this. You’re here.” The eunuch’s plump cheeks were covered with a dark stubble of beard. Ned felt the coarse hair with his fingers. Varys had renovated himself into a grizzled turnkey, reeking of sweat and sour wine. “How did you. . . what sort of magician are you?”

"A hungry one" He replied, "Drink Lord Eddard" He insisted.

Ned didn't care if it was poisoned. He was so thirsty he drank all. The holy flavour of liquid replenished his throat.

  
  


After he finished filling himself he asked, "My daughters…." None of his daughters were pleased when he informed them of sending both back to Winterfell.

Arya was upset she could no longer continue her dance class. When he assured her she could take Syrio with her she reluctantly agreed. It was surprisingly Sansa who was hard to persuade.

His daughter Sansa. Ned reflected. She loved King’s Landing; the pageantry of the court, the high lords and ladies in their velvets and silks and gemstones, the 'great city' with all its people. Ned cursed himself once again for allowing his daughter to get lost so much in the songs and tales. 

“I love him, Father," She'd said that day, "I truly truly do, I love him as much as Queen Naerys loved Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, as much as Jonquil loved Ser Florian. I want to be his queen and have his babies.” Ned tried to reason with her. He'd urged her when she's old enough he would make a match with a high lord who would be worthy of her, someone brave and gentle and strong. He had told her the match with Joffrey was a terrible mistake. "That boy is no Prince Aemon, you must believe me."

“He is!” Sansa had insisted. “I don’t want someone brave and gentle, I want him. 

We’ll be ever so happy, just like in the songs, you’ll see. I’ll give him a son with golden hair, and one day he’ll be the king of all the realm, the greatest king that ever was, as brave as the wolf and as proud as the lion.”

Despite all the begging Ned asked his men to search for a quick trading galley to send his daughters home. He'd assumed the sea was safer than the king's road with Lord Tywin Lannister permitting his mad hounds to hunt.

"You will sail as soon as I can find a proper ship, with Septa Mordane and a complement of guards. . . and yes, with Syrio Forel, if he agrees to enter my service. But say nothing about this. It’s better if no one knows about our plans. We’ll talk again tomorrow.” Sansa had cried as Septa Mordane had marched them down the steps.

  
  


At last, Vayon Poole had arranged for Sansa and Arya to sail on the _Wind Witch_ out of Braavos with Tomard and twenty escorts. _They would be back at Winterfell before the harvest._

He had also commanded Tomard to have Captain Qos pass near Dragonstone when they turned north to deliver a letter to place into the hand of Lord Stannis Baratheon. No one else. Not his steward, nor the captain of his guard, nor his lady wife, but only Lord Stannis himself.

"Both are sound and are sailing across the narrow sea even as we speak. Although your eldest daughter…." Varys said,

"What about her?" Ned asked, frightened. Sansa could be trouble. He knew. 

"Your eldest daughter was about to have Cersei know of your little scheme before I had to intervene," Varys told him, "Normally I would not care about that but seeing as how things are moving I had no options but to prevent her and have her taken to the ship you asked for"

  
  


"You abducted my daughter?" Ned asked enraged. _The audacity of this damn eunuch._

"Yes," Varys simply shrugged, "call it whatever you like. It was necessary."

"She would do no such thing as to tell Cersei" Ned refused to believe his daughter would choose the Lannister over her family.

"She did for love" Varys insisted, 

"She loves her family more" Ned defended his daughter,

"Then tell me why else would she go to Cersei and tell her of your plan to send her away from them, if not for love?” Varys asked, " or so she believes"

_I love him, Father,_ Sansa had begged. No matter how much he tried to deny he knew Varys was right.

“The poor child,” murmured the Spider. “A love so true and innocent. But you need not be concerned about her. She would reach Braavos safely. I assure you" He inched closer. "What you need to be concerned about right now is what would you do next"

He understood what Varys meant. With none of his daughters in their hand. Cersei wouldn't dare kill him.

"Catelyn held her brother; she dare not kill me or the Imp’s life would be forfeit as well," Ned told the eunuch with what little confidence he had.

"Do you truly believe Cersei cares a whim about the Imp?" Varys tsked, "Also your lady wife let the Imp slip through her fingers. I speculate he is dead by now, somewhere in the Mountains of the Moon.”

With that, all hopes of him surviving was lost. _Forgive me, Robert._ Ned prayed. He prayed for his family. For his eldest son, his wife, bedridden Bran and little Rickon. _I will not see my sons and daughters ever again. Hold Cat in my arms. Feel the cold chill of Crypts. Enjoy the harvest._ He prayed for the safe travel of his daughters…..and he prayed for Jon. Regret was the only thing left in him. The regret of his past mistakes. Regret for arranging a betrothal between Robert and Lyanna. Regret for not arriving sooner in the Tower of Joy. The regret of letting Benjen join the Night's Watch. The regret of letting his wife treat Jon harshly. The regret of agreeing to be Robert's hand but most importantly regret of giving Cersei Lannister another chance.

He'd waited for her in the quietness of the godswood to confirm the answers.

How could they have all been so blind? The truth was there in front of them all the time, written on the children’s faces. Ned felt sick.

  
  


Your brother or your lover, he'd asked. Both, she'd replied.

  
  


"The Targaryens wed brother to sister for three hundred years, to keep the bloodlines pure. And Jaime and I are more than brother and sister. We are one person in two bodies. We shared a womb together. He came into this world holding my foot, our old maester said. When he is in me, I feel. . . the whole.” He vividly reflected the ghost of a smile flitted over her lips.

When asked about Bran she unflinchingly answered his boy had seen them so they saw it fit to kill him. Despite all that, Ned gave her a chance to flee.

“I do not kill children. You would do well to listen, my lady. I shall say this only once. When the king returns from his hunt, I intend to lay the truth before him. You must be gone by then. You and your children, all three, and not to Casterly Rock. If I were you, I should take ship for the Free Cities, or even farther, to the Summer Isles or the Port of Ibben. As far as the winds blow.” Ned had laid an ultimatum before her, 

“Exile,” she had said. “A bitter cup to drink from.”

When he asked why she loathes Robert so much. The response he got from her "The night of our wedding feast, the first time we shared a bed, he called me by your sister’s name. He was on top of me, in me, stinking of wine, and he whispered to _Lyanna_ " _Oh Lya even after you died, your ghost still haunts people and ruins their lives._ Ned mused.

_When you play game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground_. She'd said. 

"If what you say is true, then please kill me. I might as well be dead for good" Ned pleaded to the eunuch.

"And why would I do that? Killing you serves me no purpose" Varys sighed, 

"Then _save_ me" Ned pushed _. I have a lot of things to say to a lot of people._

"Oh, would I?" 

"Do something. Weren't you the one who said I serve the realm. The realm would cease to exist if it falls on Lannister's hands. Robert's brother would surely rally their troops to take King's Landing. The Kingslayer and Lord Tywin are waging war in Riverrun. The North would soon join them." Ned tried to reason with him. "You could have saved Robert and prevented all this. You could have Robert know Joffrey wasn't his son. Jon Arryn need not have died." He accused the Master of Whispers, 

"For fifteen years I kept him safe from his enemies, but I could not protect him from his friends. What incredible fit of madness led you to tell the queen that you had learned the truth of Joffrey’s birth?” Varys demanded of him, 

  
  


This was his curse. Robert would swear undying love and forget them before evenfall, but Eddard Stark kept his vows. He thought of the promise he'd made Lyanna as she lay dying, and the price he'd paid to keep them. He had dreamt of Rhaegar’s children. Lord Tywin had laid the bodies beneath the Iron Throne, wrapped in the crimson cloaks of his house guard. The little princess, gods prevent, had been barefoot, still dressed in her bedgown, and…. and stabbed half a hundred times. Ned didn't even want to think of the boy. Even if he was not real Rhaegar's boy. . . it was too much. He could never forgive the atrocity, no more than he had forgiven Rhaegar. That day he swore to not kill any children.

"The madness of _mercy_ ,” Ned admitted, 

"You are honourable and honest, Lord Stark, so much that it astounds me how you could have possibly told the biggest lie to your friend" Ned had an awful pain in his guts. "The truth of Joffrey's birth you say? I know the truth of Jon Snow's birth as well...yet I kept it secret"

He was shocked by his core. _This eunuch is not human…"_ why di..?"

"Like I have said, to ensure peace over the realm. Tell me what would have happened if I had revealed the reality of any of the two births?" Ned dreaded to think about the answer.

"But now, however…" Varys began, "revealing the inevitable truth is the only way to keep you _alive_ "

"No" Ned shouted with all the strength he could summon, 

"Why not?" The eunuch calmly questioned, 

"Stannis is the heir, you would do well to support his claim" Ned advised, "bringing Jon would do the realm no favour" _I want Lya's boy far from these lying vipers and this viper's den._

"Would it not be wiser then to have the realm know about the unavoidable invasion of the dragon" Varys talked bringing the torch light closer to his face. Ned could see the gleaming eyes of the eunuch. Those eyes unnerve him.

"What do you mean?" Ned hesitantly asked, afraid of the reply.

"Daemon Targaryen is moving toward Westeros….with an army and a dragon"

_Myr and Tyrosh. The talk of the dragon. It was all him._ Ned realised. _Jon_ , _what have you become?_

In the shadows, Ned saw Jon Snow's face floating in front of him, so like a younger version of Rhaegar's. That face of his. So much like Rhaegar. Save for the hair, he failed to distinguish who was who. But when he remembered Rhaegar. All he could recall was a prince in a little children's tale. That sweet voice of his which would woo women in a heartbeat. That silvery threaded harp of his. Ned failed to see what Lyanna saw in Rhaegar. She was not a southern woman who would be head over heels for a princeling. And when he remembered Jon… there was something else different from noble Rhaegar: poison in the dark, a knife thrust to the soul. Something unspoken about him. Something he couldn't put words to. Something truly terrifying. _He will kill them all_ , Ned realized.

  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 24 - Regrets. Quite a fitting title I think. In ADWD, we saw JonCon and Young Griff convince the Golden Company - I more or less, did the same. 
> 
> Triarchs Molaquo wants Young Griff alive.... for obvious reasons. 
> 
> Arthur is still oblivious about Daemon. I find Arthur and JonCon quite similar here. Both Rhaegar's buddies who wants to help Rhaegar’s son in every way possible. 
> 
> JonCon, undoubtedly, would not be happy to see the way Young Griff is about to be used. I sadly didn't include Septa Lemore in this fic. There's a high chance she could be Ashara Dayne in canon. 
> 
> Ned is in his lowest point of life....yet he still believes Stannis is the true heir to the iron throne. 
> 
> In canon, Sansa betrayed Ned and told Cersei of her plans. However, in this fic, I prefer to not have Sansa in the court. Would be interesting to see if/when she and Arya reach Braavos. Remember, Captain Qos and the Winds Witch?
> 
> So Varys had some ulterior moves to keep Ned alive. Wonder what that is...
> 
> A relatively short chapter for now. Next up is Jon and then Viserys.


End file.
